Gleanings 

Br Olr £. G. Hendiix 
Mexieo» is ii Mo* 





Class -"P^S^S/g 
Book. -£^ ^T^ 4 



Copight]^' 



!902 



COPyRIGHT DEPOSm 



GLEANINGS 



A BOOK OF 



POEMS 



BY: 



LILY E. G. HENDRIX 

MEXICO. . PlllSSOURI 





PRESS OF 

BUSCHART BROS. PRINTING CO 

1522 LOCUST STREET 

ST. LOUIS, MO. 




lUBRARY of CONGRESS, 
two CoDles Kectitvtffl 

AUG 10 ^i'OQ 



LAS» ^ AXC, Wu. 
COPY 0. 



Copyright, June, 1908, 

by 

Mi«» Lily E. G. Hendrix 

Mexico. Mo. 



n 2 



DEDICATION 

Uo m^ motber's JSvotbcr, 

Dr. 1R. m. Bourn, 

of flDciico, mo. 

i) louinghi lirbtralr this ItltU itolumr 
uf ;inrmH, as a Hltijht tukru nf my sin- 
rrrr ijratitutir for luii umnii htths of 
kiii^nrHB, l|iB nnbk utnrba of rnrour- 
agpmput. an^ tl|p sunsl^iup iir has 
tliroiun upott uix| barkntrb patli. 

may O&nb blpsB anJi rpuiarb l?im as 
l|p an rirl|U| bpa^rupa. 




PREFACE. 

N offering to the public this vol- 
ume of poems I wish first of 
all to express my heartfelt 
gratitude to my numerous 
friends for their appreciation 
of my humble work ; and for 
their encouragement and many 
acts of kindness. 

To those who have so gen- 
erously aided me in securing 
the publication of this volurre as they have hereto- 
fore aided me in bringing forth others, I owe a debt 
of continued appreciation. My critics have dealt 
tenderly with me while my friends and admirers 
have given me unmerited praise. 

The thoughts and stories presented, originat- 
ed in my own mind, and are given in my own way. 
With my own inward vision I have alone and in 
darkness explored the regions described in this vol- 
ume, I have endeavored to please those in different 
stages of life, and sincerely hope I have done so. 

Hoping that great good and no evil, will come 
to the readers, I remain Yours sincerely, 

Lily E. G. Hendrix. 



CONTENTS 



The Harvest Youll Reap 13 

"Marjorie" 1-i 

Psyche and I 19 

How the Parson and I Made Up 21 

f 
An Answer 2G 

Fiddler Joe 27 

Wishes 32 

The Work of the Flowers 34 

Ma}^ Days 3G 

Grace 37 

Elen^ore 38 

A Victim of Fashion 39 

The Cross of Life 47 

Only a Tramp 49 

The Miner's Social Glass 52 

The Night Brings Forth the Stars 61 

A Coquet's Victory fi5 

Dad's Cunning 74 



Lintl Manor 77 

The luiipty Cage 70 

In Memory of President McKinley SI 

Keeping- a Little Negro's Place Sli 

I n Memory of Rhodes Clay 87 

The Cornwall • vStory 90 

In the Twilight 95 

Love Works Wonders 97 

The M issing Stockings 98 

Be A Man, Oh ! Be A ALan 100 

The Old and the New Year 101 

On tlie Death of an Uncle lOP, 

It Was Not Her Fanit lOG 

Only a Country Girl 107 

"To K. H. M. on His Return Home"- 108 

A Bud Transplanted 110 

FJlene Ill 

"Santa Clans is Coming" 112 



"Christmas Comes But Once a Year*' 114 

Take Back the Ring- 115 

Alone. Yet not Alone 116 

Why Hast Thou Changed 117 

The Sailor Boy Jack 118 

The Barrier Between or We'll Happy Be. ' 119 

I's Gwine H-ome to see Old ]Miss 120 

She is Sleeping 122 

Papa's Coming Home 123 

Christmas 125 

Good Old Summer Time 126 

To a Friend 127 

Only a Woman 129 

The Pictures that Never Fade 131 

How Deacon IJarnaby Came to Pop the Question 139 

Beth, The Little Blackberry Gleaner 161 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Dr. R. W". Bcurn H 

Marjoric Richardson 16 

Leavino" M onie 64 

Temptation 68 

Deathl^ed Scene 72 

Rhodes Clay 88 

Camp "AFeeting- Song 132 

Song of the Field Hands 133 

A Visitor From the Spirit Land 140 

Beth Wisdom 160 




DR. R. W BOURN 



GLEANINGS. U 



THE HARVEST YOU'LL REAP. 

'l'( ) K. W . I'.. 

He walks erect witli a stalely air. 

And a smile that the blind can see. 
Tdie sun hursts forth, and the world ^rows li|Li'ht 

\\ hen his kin<l cheery voice greets me. 
All burdens fail and the darkness flees 

And life is as bright as can 'he. 

The soul that looks throu,L;h those calm clear eyes, 

The tenderness softenini; that face 
Tell of a pure, an unselhsh |)ast. 

Adorned bv a true C'hristian i^race. 
rufhiuj^' ho])e and a steadfast faith. 

I'A'cn time can never erase. 

r)h I rncle mine, when 1 hear your v(.)ice. 

'Tis e\er in fanc\ 1 hie 
Awa}' from earth, from its cares and strite. 

l'])! up to that cit}- on high, 
W here sorrcjw and ])ain are nexer known, 

\\diere there's ne\er a sad good-by. 

1 see the lo\ed ones \vho"\e ^out' before. 
Oh! how wonderful bright they are! 

All robed in garments of spc:>tless white! 
And the beautiful gate's ajar! 

They're watching, waiting for some one else, 
It must be some one from afar. 



14 GLEANINGS. 



I see my mother, your sister there ; 

I knew her at once by her smile, 
''Is Richard comiiii;?" I hear licr say 

In that voice so gentle and mild. 
''I want to bless him and thank him first, 

He has been so good to my child." 

''He's been so good to my loved ones there,'' 

Ah ! many a parent can say ; 
For daily you scatter seeds of good 

In your gentle and modest way. 
^Ve reap the fruit, l)ut we feel and know 
We can never in half repay. 

But oh ! when your task on earth is done, 
What a golden harvest there'll be 

Awaiting you 'mid that angel band, 
When your Father's dear face you see 

And you have received his sweet "well done'' 
In that glorious eternity. 



"MARJORIE." 

Ne'er will I forget that evening 

In the southland far away.- 
I was strolling in the garden, 

'Twas a balmy eve in May. 
Over head the birds were singing 

In the grand magnolia trees. 
All around sweet flowers gave their 

Fragrance to the wooing breeze. 



GLEANINGS. 15 



Sii(l(k'nl\' from ])lcasant iniisings 

1 awoke, and to my ear 
Came a sih''ry 1)urst of music, 

E'en the nio;ht birds i)aused to hear. 
'Twas a shower of merry ripplinc^ 

Baby laughs, a bubbhn.s: o'er 
Of a heart of mirth and pleasure, 

Never heard I such before. 

Softly stole I to the window. 

Peeped within, and what 1 saw 
Was a picture that no artist 

Be he skilled, could ever draw. 
'Twas a pretty cozy parlor 

Where the baby moonbeams bright 
Crept within and slyly mingled 

With a lamp's soft mellow light. 

Laughingly both host and hostess 

Just (Hitside the half closed door 
Peeped within, themselves unnoticed 

By the dancers on the floor. 
On an ottoman sat Corda 

Playing on a light guitar 
Strains of music from her fingers 

Floated on the breeze afar. 

Even now I seem to see those 
Dancers whirling to and fro, 

Old Aunt Emily, fat and jolly, 
A\'ith her black face all aglow. 

Round her head a red bandana ; 




MARJORIE RICHARDSON. 

Paris, Arkansas. 



GLEANINGS. 17 



Faded skirt and apron strini^s 
Dangling- in a wild disorder 

As she wobbles 'round and swings. 

And her partner fair and dainty, 

Sweetest of all baby girls, 
With her cheeks like velvet roses 

And a mass of soft brown curls, 
Looking- like some fairy creature 

Tn her snowy robes afloat. 
Laces cov'ring arms and shoulders. 

Jewels gleam on hands and throat. 

And her dark eyes full of mischief 

Smiling in that fat old face, 
Where she sees a fount of wisdom 

And can even beauty trace. 
'Round and 'round and 'round the parlor 

Speed the dancers, as on wing. 
And the sweet lips calls out clearly 



''Sing-, adin Aunt K 



mnn-, snij 



And she sings — how strange the song is 

But 'tis full of melody, 
And it fills Avith admiration 

Heart and soul of Marjorie. 

She sings — 

Presus baby tugger umkins 

Hear Aunt Emmy Clar 

If mamy panks yow any more 

I'ze bound to tare her har. 

She shant have none of my spondulix 



18 GLEANINGS. 



VVhcii her spuiulnlix is gone 

When her sponduHx is gone — Avhen her sponchi- 

lix is gone 
She shant have none of my sponduhx 
When her sponduHx is gone. 
She shant have none of my conl)red 
A\dien her eonl^red is gone, 
\Vhen her conbred is gone — when her conbred is 

gone. 
She shant ha^e none of my conbred 
A\dien her conlired is gone. 

On and on she sings till ev'rv 
Thing is named that she can name, 
Still the l:)aby never wearies. 
Still her laugh rings out the same. 

All alone to night I'm dreaming 

Of that pretty southern home 
Far away mid the roses, 

W%ere in fancy oft I roam. 
Dreaming of the friends who gave me 

Such a ])leasant welcome there. 
Of the good old nurse Aunt Rmilw 

And her nursling sweet and fair. 

Little one would we could keep you 

Just as free from toil and strife, 
Just as innocent and trusting, 

All along the path of life : 
But too well Ave know that care will i 

Some day cloud your brow and heart, 
That within earth's field of battle 

You will ere long take a part. 



GLEANINGS. J9 



Oh! may ever angels guard you, 

Keep you in the path of right. 
May your love for those who love you 

Never know a change or blight. 
May the cherished hopes of parents 

Be realized, though great they be. 
May they find earth's sweetest solace 

Ever in their Marjorie. 



PSYCHE AND I. 

Jan. 1, 1908. 

Oh! ye Psyche of mine! 
Why droop so and pine? 

How it grieves me to see you so sad. 
Oh! the world is so bright, 
And so full of light, 

And there's so much for which to be glad. 

By our cheerless hearthstone 
We sit here alone. 

You are sighing for joys of the p^st. 
For the hopes that have fied, 
For love that is dead, 

For friendship too Ijeautiful to last. 

For an idol you sigh, 
You placed it too high, 

'Twas earthly and the earthly must fall. 
So it fell and the blow 
Has crushed you so low 

That vou will not be solaced at all. 



20 GLKAXTNGS. 



It is true my dear friend 
YonVl not have to l^end 

'Xeath the wei.q-ht of this chastening- rod, 
Had }'our hopes and your love 
Been centered above. 

Had you ])laced _\()ur thoughts more on your 
' God. 

Oh ! if I had ])Ut taught 
You this ere was wrouoht 

Disappointment and sorrow and ])ain. 
How different woukl l)e 
Life for }-ou and me, 

And your hopes would not all be in vain. 

Oh ! listen don't you hear 
Shouts? ''A'Velcomc New Year." 

There is music afloat on the air! 
There's a measureless scope 
For ])leasures of hope, 

And we both have a right to a shart^'. 

Ihil, ere long; we must g'O, 
You and T. don't }fHi know? 

And alas! unto dust I'll return; 
lUit A'ou'll stand at the bar 
\\c judged as you are, 

And be given just what vou have earned. 



GLEANINGS. 21 



HOW THE PARSON AND I MADE UP. 

'Twas all alon,q' of that 1)riiulle cow 

That Parson and \ made n]). 

Yes, yes. I'll tell }ou al)()ut it oirls : 

But give me a little su|) 

Of cider, it \vill moisten my tong-ne 

And keep it going a spell ; 

For this is a story long, but trne 

That I am going to tell. 

When Jonathan Digs, Your (Irandpa died, 

Why, I was but twenty-five. 

Rosy, bucksome and pretty they said, 

And the sauc'est thing alive. 

With three small children out on a farm. 

And the neighbors miles away. 

And no such doings, as ]:)honing then 

Like unto the ])resent da}-. 

Why if you wanted to chat a friend. 

You w^ent to see him and knew 

'Tw^as him for sartin, and not some wag 

A making a fool of you. 

I take no stock in these things called jdiones, 

I won't have (^ne in my hall ! 

Catch me standin thar day atter day 

Talking away through the wall. 

When the one I'm talkin to oh my! 

He mayn't be no wdiar about! 

And some one's giggling because I'm tliar 

A talkin m\- insides out. 



22 GLEANINGS. 



But I'll go back to the farm, Oh ! yes 
Twas a powerful lonesome spot, 
Many an hour I wasted in tears, 
And a mournin of my lot. 

And Oh! The work that I had to do, 

Horses to curry and feed. 

The pigs to slop, and the sheep to herd, 

Cattle to drive from the mead. 

The cows to milk and the cream to churn. 

The butter to mold away, 

The hens to coop and the eggs to count 

And the meals to cook each day. 

It was bake and brew and sweep and dust, 

And a thousand things beside, 

Many a time I have gin it up 

And I've just flopped down and cried. 

Why! A dozen times a day I combed 

A head, or I washed a face. 

To think of it now I wonder that 

I hadn't of fall'n from grace. 

Now Parson Jones was a Baptist man 

And he lived a mile from me. 

My man was a Methodist staunch and true 

And often they didn't agree ; 

I held it agin him yet and when 

His cows jumped over my fence 

And nibbled my corn and tramped my grass, 

'Twas the want of common sense 

That made me cry out these words to him 
As I saw him riding past. 



GtBA^INGS. 2$ 



Your stock is the close communion kind, 

So keep them off of my grass. 

Ke would drive them home without a word 

And I would feel just as shamed 

For many a day, then all wore oft* 

And I would be just the same. 

His big white cat canie over one day 
To play with my boys a while, 
I throwed it into a muddy pond, 
And stood and laughed like a chile. 
He chanced to pass and he hastened thar 
To rescue the struggling cat, 
Choaking with laughter I cried to him, 
"Leave it alone where it's at." 

Water won't hurt, it's a Baptist cat. 

It will do it good you know. 

He made no answer but walked away, 

I sheepishly watched him go. 

And atter that I would hurl at him 

Each day a similar stone, 

He wouldn't quarrel with me a bit 

I orter let him alone. 

One day brindle came up with a calf, 

And she must be milked, but how? 

Of all things earthly I dreaded most 

Was aj:>ig unbroken cow; 

But I shut my teeth and vowed I would 

I would dar most anything. 

So I just sat down by that cow's side 

And began to milk and sing. 



24 GLEANINGS. 



She sing's : — ''W'ah brindle, sah brindle, my good 
little I)rindle stand still. Don't shake vour 
head in that saucy way; Tho it be agin yonr 
will. Voii nuist not winch, and you uiust not 
tiinch 

And you must not curl your tail." 
Thar brindle planted her snowy foot 
Right into my milking pail. 

She began to kick me right and left. 

She tossed me up in the air. 

Teeth, nails, and tresses and bonnet strings 

War a llyin* ev'ry whar. 

I screamed for help but I thought of course 

lliat there could be none at hand; 

But at last I heard to my surprise 

A gentle, but firm command. 

It was Parson Jones a sayin "S-a-w 
My good little cow you must." 
He patted her side and ru1)l)e(l her legs, 
And she bawled her thanks and trust, 
I lay there prone in that muddy pond. 
While the cow grew calm and still. 
He helped me up with sort of a grin. 
As he asked if I was killed. 

He just sot down and he milked that cow. 

Then cpiietly walked awa}'. 

And arter that through shower or shine 

He would milk her twice a day. 

I made no efifort to milk again ; 

But al'ays sot by his side, 



GLEANINGS. 25 



I held the cup while he milked away. 
Or I stroked the cows ruf hide. 

I gin no more of my sass, oh ! no ; 
Bnt at last T said to him, 
And my \oice cjiiavered a little l)it. 
And my eyes with tears was dim, 
I can ne'er repay your kindness sir. 
He was al'ays slow to speak; 
Bnt said in a sort of bashful way, 
As he gently pinched my cheek, 

"You kin for my house a mistress needs, 

And brindle a boss }ou see. 

Shall 1 dri^•e her home tomarrow morn ?^ 

And you come along?" {|ueered he. 

Yes, I was a little taken back ; 

But what on earth could I do 

To prove my thanks, 1)ut to tell him yes. 

So I did, now wouldn't you? 

Well we were married and both agreed 
^Mlene^'er our call should come. 
To go by water or faith or grace ; 
But not to darken our home 
By quarrelling over religion. 
Xow^ you see it Avas as I've said, 
'Twas all along of that l:)rindle cow 
That parson and I were wed. 



^^ GLfiAKlNGS. 



AN ANSWER. 

W^ill my burden ever grow lighter, 
Or the pain at my heart grow less? 

Will the nights ever be 

As darksome to me, 
And the days as full of distress? 

Will the flowers never seem as lovely, 
Xor birds sing as sweet as of yore? 
Will the sun never shine 
On this dark way of mine? 
Are the joys of life ever o'er? 

You say I must pray, I have done so, 

Alone in this wee quiet spot 

I have knelt, I have prayed, 
I've implored Him for aid, 

For peace, and He giveth them not. 

I've not prayed aright, do you tell me' 
Oh! teach me then just what to say! 
"All alone at his shrine. 
Say not my will but thine 
Be done, precious Father I pray." 

Oh ! no I have not asked in that way. 

So selfish and cold is my prayer 
But your new way Til try. 
And perhaps bye and bye 

My soul will emerge from despair. 



GLEANINGS. tl 



FIDDLER JOE. 

Go and fetch it to me A\*alter, 

You will find it on the shelf 
Covered o'er with dust and cob webs; 
"Ves, I put it there myself. 
'Twas the day that Grandma left us, 

And my heart was nigh to 1)reak ; 
l"hen the sight of that old fiddle 

Made my old head swim and ache. 

But to-night, it being Christmas, 

Tender memories of yore 
Thrill my heart, and make me long to 

Hear its gentle voice once more. 
Yes, 'twill take a spell to tune it, 

All the strings are down \ou see. 
No, indeed I've not forgotten, 

Mem'ry rushes back to me. 

I was once a noted fiddler. 

Far and near I used to go 
Playing for the country dances, 

And they called me "Fiddler Joe." 
Fiddler Joe, — how well it suited ! 

Now they call me "Old Judge Brown. 
All the folks bow down with homage 

A\dien they see me coming 'round. 

r)Ut to-night I must forget the 
Changes that have taken place. 

Must forget I'm old and feeble, 
And have almost run my race. 



28 GLEANINGS. 



~Slust forget newspaper columns 

Filled with tales that numb my brain, 

Afust fort^et the rise of tariff. 

And the drawing' near cam])aign. 

]\[ust forg-et all banks and 1)ank stocks, 

Alust forget the care and strife. 
And the imstle and the bustle 

That make up my daily life. 
Oh! 1*11 drift away in (fancy) 

From it all. and once more feel 
That F'm back in old Alissouri 

Playing some old fashion reel. 

You have never seen it A\'alter, 
The old home of your grandpa's, 

'Twas a double hewed log cabin 
Near the creek, the old Auxvasse. 

Forests dense and tall were growing- 
All around and often we 

E*oys have labored long and faithful, 
Felling, hewing tree by tree. 

Now they tell me towns have sprung up 

All along that bridges span 
The old stream, and lovely dwellings 

You can see on every hand ; 
lUit I must forget these changes. 

Wake up tiddle ! Let's once more 
Hurry back to old ]\iissouri, 

Play those good old tunes all o'er. 

\\> have had a splendid autumn. 
We have stored our corn and hay. 



G LEANINGS. 29 



And our cellar's heaped with iiOfnl thini^s, 

"Laid up for a rainv day.'* 
Dear old mother, bless her menrry ! 

Says, "AA'hy children mercy sakes ! 
Christmas time is rii^ht upon us. 

Now for pumpkin pies and cakes. 

"Now for sweet meats, doughnuts, cookies. 

How the turkey screams wdth fear. 
\\'hen he hears us fellows shoutin^^i" 

"Christmas comes but once a year.'' 
Good eggnog, and good hard cider 

Handed 'round to great and small. 
White and black : 'twas no disgrace then. 

Not a drunkard 'mong us all. 

Our good old father sa}s, "come boys 

All your work has been well done, 
Christmas is the time for frolic, 

Go ye forth and have your fun." 
All da}' long we tramp the forest. 

Shoot the l)ird and chase the deer. 
Ev'ry night we meet, and frolic 

At the neighb'ring houses near. 

In a little country village. 

Now a prosp'rous rising town 
Filled with railroads, filled with churches, 

hilled wdth schools of great renown ; 
])Ut it's not of cities, speak I, 

'Tis the small town ^lexico. 
Thar's to l)e a ball, a grand one! 

And they send for Fiddler Toe. 



30 GLEANINGS. 



I am thar xou t^o old fiddle ! 

Near the open door we stand. 
Brother Jacob is beside us 

With his banjo in his hand. 
Clear the room ye wall flowers, hurry ! 

Shove yourselves right through this door 
Ye old folks and squalling l)abics, 

Let the young ones have the floor. 

Martin, leave that shady corner, 

Don't be whisp'ring to that girl. 
Look behind yon Kittie Yarble 

See, Frank Chandlers stole a curl. 
Hello Charley ! You look scrumptious. 

What's the matter with you Jim? 
''Waiting for a waltz," is that it? 

Got yourself in huggin trim? 



Thar's is pretty Mary Lawrence ! 

Got my eye pealed thater way, 
She has niggers by the dozens 

Land and money to they say. 
Look a thar at Emily Barnett, 

See that lightning in her e}e? 
Alfred Powell tried to kiss her. 

INlade her mad enough to die. 

Hello Jack ! I knowed you'd be here, 
Get your girl and come right in, 

What's the matter with the fellows? 
Seem they can't or won't begin. 

Come whoop up boys get your partners. 
Now you're ready, Here we go ! 



GLEANINGS. 31 



Let us gin them something lixely, 
"Hop Hght ladies your cake's dough." 

He plays — Devils Dream, no, Leather Britches, 

"Buffalo girls come out to-night." 
Now they're gettin down in earnest, 

They'll dance here till broad daylight, 
Golly ! Look at big Jim Carter 

How he swings that girl, and see 
Thar's Lucy Ann McPhetus ! 

How she smiles and winks at me. 

Listen to old Silas will you? 

Calling off, how he can yell ! 
Gracious how the boys are stompin ! 

Glory ! thar's the supper bell. 
All night long the dance continues. 

All night long till morning comes, 
Then with best of Christmas wishes 

Off we hurry to our homes. 

O ! those merry Christmas frolics. 

Never more to come again. 
Real fun and real pleasure 

Only memory can retain. 
Alas ! those dear, dear girls and boys 

Gone, O ! yes forever gone. 
One by one they've crossed the river; 

Till I'm almost left alone. 

Take the fiddle, take it Walter, 

For my eyes are dim with tears, 
And my heart is sad with mem'ries 



32 GLEANINGS. 



Of those happy bygone years. 
I'll forget that this is Christmas, . 

And will once more take my place 
In the hustle and the bustle, 

In life's mercenary chase. 

Soon, Oh! soon 'twill all be over. 

All the wealth I've toiled to save, 
All the fame, the pomp, the fashion 

Can not keep me from the grave. 
Just a narrow strip of earth boy, 

Covered o'er with grass or snow, 
\\\l\ contain the empty casket. 

All that's left of Fiddler loe. 



"WISHES." 

TO C. M. 

O ! would I were a sunbeam, 

That I might come and smile 
Each morning through }our window 

And watch you all the while. 
Perhaps you'd praise my brightness, 

And sometimes let me in. 
Perhaps a word of welcome 

Each day from you I'd win. 

Oh ! would I were a robin, 

Upon your window sill 
I'd sit from morn till evening 

And trill, and trill, and trill 
My sweetest lays till maybe 



GLEANINGS. 33 



Some mornino' yon would sav 
"T wish the Httle robin 

Would come ao^ain to day/' 

O! would T were a rosebud, 

More lovelv than the rest. 
That your fair hand mii^'ht cull me 

To wear upon your breast. 
T'd give my sweetest frag'rance 

And then i^erhaps who knows 
But what \-on'd sometimes kiss me 

\A'hy can't T be a rose! 

O ! would I were a poet, 

A poet o'ood and true, 
T'd write a thousand ])oems 

And all should be of vou ; 
I'd send these precious verses 

To every land afar, 
All should know my little Claire 

How good and pure you are. 

()! would T were a painter 

I'd paint on canvas rare 
The sweetest, fairest picture. 

At which the world would stare. 
And marvel at its beauty. 

Its o;entleness. and g-race ; 
Yes all should have the pleasure 

Of gazing on your face. 

O ! would I were a hero. 
Who'd many vict'ries won. 



34 C.LEAXINCS. 



So all the world would ])raisc mc 
And ra\-c of what I'd done: 

l*t'rha]:s tlien I could ^\•in }()U. 
And ^vit1l }-ou for ]^^y nwu. 

I'd be the richest monarch 
The world has exer known. 

T)Ut wdiat's the use of wishinj^-. 

Such thing's can never be. 
\c) sunbeam, bird or Hower 

Can e'er be made of me : 
Xo i)oet j:i"reat. no ])ainter. 

Xo monarch of the world, 
1 'm just _\-our little ])U])il. 

An idle dreaminsj" <j'irl. 



THE WORK OF THE FLOWERS. 

So you have slathered the howers. 

(lathered and l)rou!;^ht them to mc. 
iM-esh from the heart of the ^^arden 

Fresh from the woodland and lea. 
I)eautiful, l)eautiful flowers! 

A^ar'ing' in perfume and hue. 
Echoing still with the bee song-. 

Dripping and si)ark]ing with dew. 

W'h}- ha\e the shadows departed? 

Where are those phantoms of gloom? 
h'rom whence came this glor'ous something 

That brightens ni}- lonel\- room? 
\\ h\' is the air full of music? 



GLEANINGS. > 35 



Why has the sky such a glow 
I ask, and sweet echoes answer. 

"The riow'rs lia\e done it I- know." 

Now sa}' little nierr\ Willie. 

How^ came ^ou to think of me? 
When seeking Nour cow at evening. 

A bine bell you chanced to see 
Growing out there in the thicket. 

(I'he first is alwa}s so sweet) 
You culled it, tearing }'our trousers, 

Pricking your little bare feet. 

And you. little daint\- (jertrude. 

How came you to i)ause at i)la}'. 
( )ut there in }-our mother's garden 

And think of me lonel}? say! 
The roses \"ou brought are loveK' 

The ])ansies just like xourself 
It seems tc^ be you I'm holding, 

\^ni dear little dainty elf! 

And children sweet i^ffie and Helen. 

Stella, wee Xina and Ab'iw 
When hurr}dng home with xour school books 

Often you pause on your way 
And gather sweet fiow'rs to bring me 

'Tis thoughtful and kind of A'OU. 
]\ly room is a bower of lilacs, 

Buttercups, \iolets blue. 

I'o-night, I'm wand'ring in fancy 
L'p in (iod's garden above 



36 OLEAXTNOS. 

Happy with all these dear children 
A\'ho l)riiig' nie tokens of love. 

Flowers are blooming- around ns, 
Xo need of culling for me ; 

For light, blessed light is shining 
For all in eternity. 



MAY DAYS. 

( )h ! the ?\Iay da}'s have come, let the jov bells ring. 
What rapture, what courage, what promise the} 

bring, 
( )h ! the light, and the warmth, the glory of spring. 
Adieu to the frost, and the sleet and the cold, 
Adieit to the north wind so fearless and Ix^ld. 
And adieu to hre-side stories oil told. 
Come forth little tlower "tis time to ai)pear. 
Awake sleepy l)ird} , awake and gixe cheer. 
Say, ''the beautiful Ala}' da\ s are here, are here! 
Imitate the bird : — 

Oh! the bees, the lairds ! and the lurds and the bees, 
How they'll re\el and sport in the balniy breeze, 
How they'll Bit how they'll hum through the mea- 
dows and trees. 
How I long with the laudj to race on the hill. 
To laugh with the brooklet, and dance with the rill. 
To roam through the prairies and forests at will, 
To tlit, or to whirl or to wdiisk through the air. 
Like a free wild thing with no burdens to bear. 
\wa\' from sad thoughts and away from dull care. 



G LE AXING S. 37 



The sunbeams are laughino- all nature seems glad. 
Arouse drooping- heart 3011 must not be so sad ; 
When the best and brightest of earth can be had. 
The snowflakc has melted 'neath Phoel)Us' l)right 

ra}', 
'Twill melt from the heart 'neath the warm glance 

of Alay, 
And gloomy forebodings like clouds ]:)ass away. 
Oh ! so soft is the air and so blue the sky ! 
Let's laugh and be gay we have no time to sigh. 
The lieautiful Mav da\s are hurrvino- l)v. 



GRACE. 

T ti]) ni}- hat in fricndh' way 

When e'er we chanced to meet. 
She smiles! but Oh! that evening goes 

The other street. 
"That smile so liright'" that from mv ])rain 

No eflort can erase ; 
But all 1 know aliout her is 

Her name is (irace. 

I'm sure she tries to avoid me 

Or such her actions seem. 
Forbidden fruit is l:»est they say 

And that's no dream. 
Within the good book are these words. 



I hardly know what place. 
'Tf we would bear our burdens wel 
We must have Grace." 



38 GLEAXIXGS. 



And so I've thouo-ht the matter o'er 

In every kind of \va}-. 
And serewed my couraoe to tlie point, 

I will ol)e}'. 
I'll seek her ])a tomorrow morn. 

ril look him in the face. 
And ask him in the plainest terms 

l^o oive me Grace. 



ELENORE. 

I sat alone in the d^ino- lio-ht 
Of the golden snn that shone so bright. 
Sweet odor of iiow'rs came by on the breeze 
Idle birds soared high in the maple trees. 
And sang as they ne\er had snng before. 
And all that they sang was "ElencM'e." 

Softly there came over hill and dell 
The silv'ry sound of a distant bell. 
The low of the cattle not far away, • 
The katy-dids chirped, all seemed to say. 
Seemed to murmur but (me name nothing more 
Till the woods re-echoed "Fdenore." 

And sitting there in that twilight clear, 
\\ ith many sweet reminders of her, 
^ly heart from sluml^er woke with a bound 
Eagerly drinking in ev'ry sound, 
Tenderly murmuring it o'er and o'er. 
Whispering it softly "Elenore." 



GLEANINGS. 39 



A VICTIM OF FASHION. 

Xo (hjctor \()ii can't l)e in earnest, 

"Tis crnel to jest with mc so. 
( ()nsnni])tion ! 1 ha\c the consuni])tion, 

1^hat dreaded destrox'er? Ah no! 
^'et ^vhat means this terril)le coughing', 

ddiis i^ain at my cliest and my breath 
Is so short! — It must mean consumption! 

Consumption means nothing l)ut death. 

I'rought on h_\- ex])osure, you tell me 

"Too much dissi])ation,'" what stuii" 
"Late drixing, late dinners, late e\'enings, 

Thin dresses, balls, parties (enough!) 
WOuld you ha\e me sta_\' at home evenings, 

( )r go to 1)ed ])r()m])tl}- at nine?' 
()r go to an opera clad in 

Some thick woolen wrapper? How fine! 

^^)u ho])e I am ready, now doctor 

^'ou really are talking most (jueer 
J, ready to die at this season. 

The most brilliant time of the \ear? 
Here are a score of invitations, 

Ball, ])arties, soirees, and you see 
They're by the elite of the city 

And must not Ix' slighted by me. 

There's (irossvinner's ball for next AX'ednesday 

'Twill be a most brilliant affair, 
Idle grandest they say of the season, 
And Count Deveraux will be there. 



40 GLE.VNINGS. 



A real live count don't you hear nie? . 
He admires me too, ?o thev say. 
Yes, yes, I'm a widow past fifty ; 

])Ut my liair is not \ery .^"ray. 

I ready to die, when this world is 
One vast and magnificent scene 
Of pleasure? I don't understand you. 
Then doctor please state what you mean. 

You hope I can meet the dear Savior 
Unblushing- and say. Precious One 

I've finished the tasks thou hast given, 
And hear his sweet answ^er, 'Veil done." 



Ah! well — I suppose T can doctor; 

l»ut why am I trembling so much? 
I'm truly an up-to-date member 

Of a stylish, up-to-date church. 
I always attend in fair weather, 

I rent the most elegant pew. 
To all foreign missions pray tell me 

Who ever gives more than I do? 

But Nell says that's not true religion. 

I know it's not her kind, ha! ha! 
Poor Xellie is odd and old-fashioned. 

Eccentric just like her papa. 
\Miy often she enters a ball room 

Arrayed in some last season's dress, 
The money she had for a new one. 

All gone to some wretch in distress. 



GLEAXIX(iS. 4 J 



She trimiiied o'er her last winter's l^onnet, 

And carries with grace her old fan, 
And she gives ail her monthly allowance 

To help some poor woman or man. 
And often in some dirt}' hovel, 

She watches all night by the bed 
Of some sufif'ring child, when she shonld l)e 

In some hall of pleasure instead. 

Now when I grow angry and scold her 

She says with her most winning smile, 
"I'd not give that mother's ( iod bless you 

For world's of }our fashion and style." 
"She's not like her sister ^laud," No Sir! 

Dear Maud h'as my judgment and pride, 
She'd not touch a dirty rag muffin 

For worlds, nor for heaven besides. 

(An Invisible Person or Choir Sings: — ) 

When my final farewell to the world I have said, 
and gladly lie down to my rest, 

When softly the watchers shall sa\-. he is dead and 
fold my pale hands o'er my breast. 

And when, with my glorified vision at last, the 
walls of that City I see. 

Will any one then, at the beautiful gate, be wait- 
ing and watching for me? 

Hark ! who is that singing so sweetly ! 

I've heard Nellie sing it, but Oh ! 
I never have noticed it's meaning, 

What makes my poor heart flutter so? 



42 GLP:ANlN(iS. 



How softly it comes tliroui^h the Avindow, 

Rach note striking- dee]) in my soul. 
1 see the dark waters l)etore me. 

Mow \vildl\- the herce billows roll. 

The hymn is continued, the music tills the room, 
all through the hymn the \ictim paces the 
floor, wildly rings her hands. wee])s bitterl}'. 
All the time giving- forth these exclamations, 
"not one. no not one, will be watching and 
waiting for me. Oh! } es the reaper is too 
near, too near. Ves. yes. there are so many 
little ones but I hate children and they feared 
me, they will not be waiting" at that gate for 
me. not one. ( )h ! (lod not one!" 

Singing continues: — 

There are little ones glancing about in my path, in 

w'ant of a friend and a guide ; 
There are dear little eyes looking up int(^ mine, 

whose tears might be easily dried. 
l')Ut jesus nia}' l)eckon the children away, in the 

midst of their grief and their glee — 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate, be waiting 

and watching for me?* 

(Chorus) 

Will any of them at the l)eautiful gate, be waiting 
and watching for me? 

There are old and forsaken who linger awdiile in 
homes which their dearest have left : 

And a few gentle words or an • action of love, may 
cheer their sad s])irit bereft. 



ril.EAXIX(iS. 43 



I hit the Reaper is near to the long-standino- corn, 

the wear}' will soon be set free. 
\\"\\\ any of them at the heautifnl j^ate, be waiting- 

and watching for me? 

(Chorns) 

Will any of them at the beantifnl gate, be waiting 
and watching for me? 

"^'on heard it, oh! d(^ct(^r you heard it? 

Xow tell me it reall\- can't be 
That in that bright city n]) yonder 

There's no one who's watching for me? 
( )h I yes, T can see } on believe it. 

\'ou look at me throngh bhnding tears. 
My (iod! has my life been a failure, 

A wasting and scjuandering of years. 

"There're old and forsaken." 1 know it, 

1 ])ass them bv |)roudlv each da}'. 
And little ones needing ni}' friendshi]), 

\\ hom rudely I spurn from m}- wa}'. 
There's ihddy Malone the washwoman. 

Perhaps it was mean after all 
To ask her to wait for her money, 

I hit then the amount Avas so small. 

At last she grew angry and cursed me, 
I thought the poor thing had gone wild. 

She cried "Oh, me baby is starving, 
Yq wretch ye are murd'ring me child." 

Nell heard it and hastened that evening 



44 GLEANINGS. 

With food; Init alas 'twas too late! 
I am sure that baby's not waiting- 
For me at the beautiful o^ate. 

And there was old Alike the wood sawer. 

I asked him to wait for his pay 
I hadn't it then ; but how dreadful 

He looked as he tottered aw^ay. 
(Dead) died was the verdict they rendered, 

For the want of essential food ; 
But oh, I can't see how three dollars 

A\^ould do one so very much o-,)od. 

And Bessie that poor little seamstress. 

Yes, truly her death made me sad ! 
The cheapest and very best sewer 

The city has ever yet had ; 
And then she would wait for her money. 

I wish I had paid that last bill. 
The look of despair that she gave me 

Is fresh in my memory still. 

Hark ! who is that calling and calling 
So feebly, yet clearly? My boy! 

I thought him across the Atlantic 
A fugitive. A^es, it is Roy ! 

He is saying, '*Oh ! mother Fm dying- 
Alone in a far distant land, 

A fugitive hiding from justice. 

'Twas wrought by your own cruel hand. 

''You gave me the wine cup first mother, 
A^ou taught me the name of each card. 



GLEANINGS. 45 



^'ou reared me to think work dcgradiniLi'. 

( )h I mother I thoui^ht it so hard 
Tlie day you refused me more money, 

T stole it from others, and T 
Am dying- a)one unforg^iven, 

1>11 poor little Nellie g-ood-bye." 

Oh! yes it is Roy I am certain. 

In s])irit he's talking- to me. 
No word of forgiveness, no farewell 

Comes to me from o\er the sea. 
And Maudie was here \esterday evening. 

I told her just what }-ou had said. 
She cried. "( )h ! dear mamma how funny 

'Twill be to me \\hen you arc dead. 

'T wish 'twas old Horton that's going; 

Then what a gay widow I'd be. 
You said wdicn }ou urged me to wed him, 

(Hie ugh' old miser) that he 
Would not be here long so accej)t him 

Dear Maud, was the counsel you gave. 
Ha ! Ha ! he will head the procession 

That follows me down to my grave." 

Cold, cruel, indifferent my children, 

A[y treasures, my idols, my pride, 
Fc:>r whom I have schemed and I've i:)lotte(l, 

For whom I have cheated and lied. 
Oh! where will I go in my anguish? 

Here's Nellie fair angel of light, 
Come near with your sweet words of comfort 

And watch by my bed through the night. 



46 



GLEANINGS. 



( )h ! Xellie I'm (l_\in.^! you hear me? 

Ah' jewels, ni}' satins and lace 
Are curses that lure me to ruin. 

All i^'ood in ni}- nature deface. 
The money J owe those ])oor creatures, 

And ke])t for some fri\'lous desire. 
Has turned, to a i^Teat seething monster 

And scorches my soul with its fire. 

Come nearer, and say }i)u for^ixe me, 

My cruel neglect of the ])ast. 
The love I l^estowed on the others, 

I've found your true \alue at last. 
( )h ! }'es, you forgive me. you kiss me. 

] feel }'our warm tears on m\- brow. 
'Tis strang'c 1 grow calm in \our presence, 

^'our \"er\' touch soothes me some how. 

\\ hat's that xou are sa}ing oh. Xellie! 

Rei)eat the sweet words o'er and o'er. 
He too will forgi\-e if 1 ask flim 

He loxes me? .Vh, sa}' it once more; 
lUit how could he love such a sinner? 

Who li\ed hut f()r st}le. wealth and fame 
W ho's naught Imt a N-ictim of fashion 

\\ ho ne\-er e'en rev'renced His name. 



The demons that mock me have vanished 
The ])ain in my chest has all gone. 

I see a great cit\ , how lovel}-! 

HoAv glor'ous ! I hear you, speak on. 

He died for my sake as for others, 
His slaxers He freelv forgave. 



glp:anings. 47 



His heart is all love and tors^ix'eness, 
L knoAv it, thank (iod I'm sa\e(l! 

( iood-hyC. I'm pnni^" now doctor. 

( iod hless yon ni}- kind noble friend. 
.\nd Xellic my pnre spotless bah}'. 

So faithfnl cind s^ood to the end. 
^\)n know that your papa toro-i\-es me 

His ])oor, faithless wife? Is that trne 
( )h ! can it be he who is sini^inii? 

"I'm waitiii"' and watehinij" for Non." 



THE CROSSES OF LIFE. 
To Miss S. C. 

"'lis one of the crosses of life, my dear. 

And life has many'' she said. 
As she wiped the l^owinjj" tears from m\- cheek 

And g'ently caressed my head, 
I sat on an ottoman at her feet 

And poured out uw tales of woe: 
I^ow real they seemed to m\' childish heart 

In those exenini^s long" ai;'o. 

What artist could ever on canx'as rear 

Portray that i^lorious face? 
That countenance beaming wdth love and light. 

Reflecting the Saviour's grace. 
What poet could ever descril)e that smile, 

lliat voice so tender and good. 
That thrilled the listener, and stirred the heart. 

And changed the angriest mood. 



48 GLEANINGS. 

"There will come a time little girl" she said, 

"\Mien this will seem naught to von. 
Go and let me alone, from Corda's lips, 

And a stiff good night from Lou, 
And a little slight from ]\ramie and Rose, 

A hasty retort from Kate, 
^"on will think dift'erently bye and bye 

A\'hen far from each hned school mate. 

'AA'hen these raven tresses are touched wnth snow. 

And your fair brow^ marked by pain. 
When your heart is crushed 'neath its weight of 
woe 

And your life seems lived in vain. 
When earth grows colder and darker each day. 

And pleasure is Imt a dream. 
When golden friendship has vanished for aye 

And love's but a ])oet's theme, 

''You w\]\ call them trifles, these school day griefs. 

Oh ! girly I'm glad that you 
Can never look back through the m}stic maze 

Of my life as I now do. 
And see the sorrow', the anguish, the grief!" 

Then I glanced up with sur])rise. 
Oh! I'll never forget that woe drawn face. 

And the pained look in her eyes! 

For it told a story of martyred ho]:)es, 

Of a cross she'd ne'er remove. 
Long years of suffering, patiently 1:)orne 

For a i^ure unselfish love. 
It was but a moment then all was gone. 



GLEANINGS. 49 



i 

And once more she smiled on me. 
Out of the furnace that mem'ry liad v.-roui^ht. 
The soul rose triumphanth-. 

"Remember" she said, "thoui^h cruel to you 

May seem the chastenini"' rod. 
You must do your duty what e'er it be, 

.\nd the rest you leave to (lod. 
Xow go" she whispered, '*}ou must hud these gir 

And bid them a sweet piod-ni^ht. 
Say you are sorry, they are 1 am sure! 

.\nd ev'ry thing will come right." 

The}' have come and vanished long' wearv \ears, 

And the dreams and ho]x\s of youth; 
lUit often in fancy T listen to 

Th(^se words of wisdom and truth. 
And I hear again when my soul sinks 'neath 

The weight of the chast'ning rod, 
"You must do your duty what e'er it be. 

And the rest \ou leave to God." 



ONLY A TRAMP. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tramp! 

Yes, leave him out there in the cold and the sleet. 
Why, he has nothing' but rags on his l)ack ! 

His shoes are in holes, you can see his bare feet. 
Come heap high the fuel, and make the fire bright, 

And draw your chair here in the warmth and 
light, 
O I let us thank God that we are not tramps, 

And forced to be out on this cold stormy night. 



50 (JJ.EANINGS. 



Close tlie (lour tii^btly, he's only a trani])! 

lUit slay you may give him this bread, it is stale. 
And this bit of meat, it's spoilt 1 am sure. 

For Towser refused it with a wag of his tail. 
( )iir garner is filled with earth's richest store, 

( )ur cellar is piled, and our pantry's complete; 
So let us thank ( iod that we are not tramps 

And forced to go begging for something to eat. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tramp! 

(Hve him no pennies he is able to work, 
T)ig, lazy fellow! who tramps the world o'er 

Pilfering and trying all duties to shirk. 
There're calls from the mission, pennies we'll need 

I^\)r the dear little heathens over the sea. 
The angels in heaven rejoice, no dou1)t. 

That earth is yet ]:»lessed with such Christians as 
we. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tramp! 

Ah ! what is he begging for work, did you sav ? 
Don't gi\e him any, the rough looking wretch. 

I fear such a creature, go turn him away. 
To-morrow at church wdien kneeling to pray, 

I'll ask the dear Father i-n heaven to touch 
The heart of this ruffian, he will 1 know. 

For the prayers of the righteous availeth much. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tramp! 

He is only a tramp, alas it is true! 
I'ut Jesus has gi\en His own precious life 

hor this wretched sinner, as well as for you. 



GLEANINGS. 51 



We know not the trials throiu^h which he has 
passed 

The awful temptations that fell to his lot. 
The dire influence that shadowed his life, 

A\^e know nothing- of him, so then judge him not. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tramp! 

Yet once he was clasped to a fond mother's 
hreast, 
Proud eyes gazed upon him with jo^• and hope, 

And home 1)y his innocent presence was blessed. 
Yes, somebody loved him in days g'one l)y. 

Some hand has caressed the fair curls on his 
brow. 
That somebodx's gone from his pathwax" for ax'e ; 

niie hand that caressed him is mouldering now. 

Close the door tightly, he's only a tram])! 

Ah! what if the Master these cold words sliould 
sa}' 
When _\-ou knock at his door asking for aid. 

And what if the angels should tiu'u you away, 
A\ hat if they deem xou unworth}- to come 

Into the pure light, and the warmth, and the glow 
Of heav'n, and leave you out there in the dark. 

Oh! what would you do then, and wdiere wn^uld 
you go? 



52 GLEANINGS. 



THE MINER'S SOCIAL GLASS. 

No! jailor don't tarn iiic awa}- jilease, 

I won't bother lon^- I'll dcclar 
I want but a peej) in xour dunf^con, 

To see if my Bill is in thar. - 
I've come all the way up to town sir, 

To see if the story is true ; 
Fur mother would have me to come sir, 

Or I wouldn't be pest'rin you. 

Fur somehow I think they have lied, sir, 

The newspapers, gossij^s and all ! 
^ly Billie insic'e tliar fur mr.rder 

That was done in a drunken brawl ! 
I can't j.ist remember the words sir; 

But think that they read in this way, 
"Bill Tompkins was took up fur murder 

And cla])ped into jail \isterday." x 

Poor mother fell down in a faint sir, 

I thoug-ht she would never awake. 
She sot lots of store by our Billie, 

It seems that her old heart will break. 
And Kittie, that's IViWs little sweetheart 

^^'as cryin' the blessed night sir! 
Fur she loves Bill in spite of his faults, 

And Bill — well — we thought he loved her. 

'Tis scarcely two years since he left us, 

And in all the country around 
A chipper or cheerper or smarter lad, 

I'm sarten you could not of found. 



GLEANINGS. 53 



He could chop all da}- at a clearin' 
As lon,q- as the sun gin him lite. 

And coidd husk more corn at a huskin, 
And dance out the rest of the night. 

He's mighty well larnt, is our Rillie, 

I tell }ou he's nohod}'s tool ! 
Mother and I did most of the work 

And kept him a goin to school. 
The gals was all sweet on him too sir. 

He could of had pick of the best, 
He did, fur thar's none like our Kittie, 

Yes, Kittie's a head of the rest. 

But Billie had one little fault, sir. 

The fault of so many }onng men ! 
It was liking his li(|uer too wcU sir, 

I didn't think much of it then; 
But mother she grie^•ed o'er it mightl} . 

She al'ays took sich things to heart. 
She watched over Bill like a haw^k, sir, 

And said it was my fault in part. 

Well, mebby it was, but I tell you 

I never intended him wrong! 
You see, when I worked in the mines, Sir, 

Sometimes I would take Bill along, 
And atter a hard day of diggin, 

When thirsty we use to drap in 
The tavern that stood by the wayside 

Fur a glass of brandy or gin. 



54 GLEANINGS. 



The niiner's would drap in one by one. 

Rough, jolly, good fellows was they! 
Together we'd drink and be merry 

In sort of a neighborly way. 
'Twas onh' a social glass, jailor 

We took, I will swar it is so ! 
And many a deacon and elder. 

Yes, parson will do that yon know. 

Well Bill was a bit of a shaver, 

Xo higher than that, and the men 
A\^onld give him a glass of hard cider 

And a drap of gin now and then. 
'Twould make him cut all kind of capers 

Dance, tumble, and most an3^ thing 
The miner's would ask him to do, sir 

And golly! Oh how he could sing! 

A\'ell it tickled the boys all mightly, 

They'd praise him and call him a brick. 
Did you ever see a child drunk sir? 

'Tis funny, youVl laugh yourself sick. 
\\\dl. when he growed tired and sleepy, 

I'd tote him safe home to his bed, 
And mother would take on about it, 

And say "he had better be dead." 

"Our bab}' drunk John" she'd say to me, 
"1 tell }'ou 'tis a burning shame! 

It's ruin, it means nothing else John, 
And onlv yourself is to blame." 

I laughed at her (|uar focdish notions, 



GLEANINGS. 55 

He i:^"rovve(l up to be a i^ood son 
Aiul wc Avas that ])roiul of our liilHe 
^'ou see. he is our only one. 

And thou,L;h he was fond of his h(|uer. 

We ne\er had cause fur alarm. 
And it would have al'ays, 1)een tluis. sir. 

If he had stayed down on the farm. 
It was not that our l:)oy was laz\-. 

'dAvas not that he (h'eaded the work. 
He o-ot in his head the fool notion 

( )f comin' up tOAvn here as clerk. 

We tried to persuade him to sta}', sir. 

He wouldn't, 'twas useless to tr\- ; 
He'd made up his mind he would leiivc us. 

His notions was all mighty high. 
\\v'(\ make a fortune up here he said. 

And Kittie should then be his wife. 
And mother and father forever 

He free from that dull drudging life. 

Well, mother and I both consented 

At last fur our Ihllie to go; ' 

But as fur it being dull down thar. 



no 



W^e never had thought it. oh 
The women folks clung to him cry in, 

And begged him a thousand times o'er 
To never tech one drap of liquer 

And stick purty clost to the store. 

He gin them the promise intending 
I'o keep it forever I think; 



56 GLEANINGS. 



Ijiit soon he fell into bad conip'ny, 
Of course then he comenst to drink. 

And scarcely six months had past away 
l^ill all of his money was gone. 

And scrape atter scrape he got into, 
And still he kept goino- right on. 

Then his Ijoss turned him out of the store 

Fur stealing, they told me ; but when 
They caught him a forgin some names, sir 

He like to have gone to the pen. 
\\> heard it down there on the old farm, 

'Tw^as hard to believe it at fust ; 
But when we found out it for sartain, 

It seemed that our okl hearts would bust. 

He wTit us sich pitiful letters. 

They would tech the heart of a stone ! 
He said if we would but help him 

Once more he would let drink alone. 
And fool like I sent him some money 

Agin and agin, until soon 
Aly forty years savens had landed 

Down thar in that drated saloon. 

Poor Kittie had saved up a little 

Fur her weddin finery, I'll bet! 
It too was sent up here fur Billie 

To pay off some blame whiskey debt. 
And now the old homestead is mortgaged 

The horses and cattle are sold. 
Old winter's at hand and no pennies 

To keep out starvation and cold. 



GLEANINGS. 57 



'Tis hard on poor mother and me sir, 
W'e are old and not half so spry 

Or able to dig out a li\in' 

As we was in the days gone ])y , 

To think of him bein a drunl- ard, 
A thief, a defaulter beside. 

And now he is took up fur murder. 
It must be that somebody's lied. 

Cut wh}' am I standin here talkin ! 

Lead on, I will follow, whew-e-c-e ! 
It is dark down here in this corner. 

Bring a light here so I can see. 
It may be your light haint a good one, 

It may be my eyes have growed dim ; 
But showly that beep of rags and dirt 

Can ne\er, no ne\er be him ! 

Hello Bill! hello thar, I say sir! 

Git up, don't you hear your dad call? 
Rise up like a man and confrunt me. 

And tell me it taint }-ou at all. 
Then slowly a head is uplifted, 

A form rises up from the floor, 
And a pair of bloodshot eyes gleam forth 

Through the bars of the prison door. 

And Billie the pride of the farm house, 
The hope of fond parents as well. 

The idol of sweet Kittie Manard 

Stands there in that doomed felon's cell. 

Stands there with no sign of repentance, 
With a hang-dog look on his face; 



58 GLEANINGS. 



For Bacchus on brow, and cheek, and Hp 
Has left his a1)nr'nal:>]e trace. 

It's Billie, ( )h jailor! it's T.illie ! 

r know him, my own little son. 
W'h}- ha\e you changed so? it can not be 

Yon did what they say you have done. 
You never stabbed Robert Trevanion? 

Oh! say that you never my boy. 
I'll take the news back home to mother 

And Kittie, 'twill fill them with joy. 

You never was guilty of murder? 

You never did that awful sin? 
What's that you are saying-, you did sir? 

"By hokies" you'll do it again? 
You own to it boy? they will hang you. 

Why haven't you one drap of shame 
lliat }'OU have l)r(night ruin u])on us. 

Disgrace on your honored old name? 

You want me to shut up my preaching-, 

W^ell that isn't wdiat 1 am at ! 
It's mone}' you want, nothing else sir. 

And have I brought any of that. 
Xow^ Billie you know J haint got it. 

You've spent ev'ry cent that I had. 
"The lawyer's wont plead without money 

I know it, my boy, it's too bad I 

And I don't know jist whom to turn to 

And ask fur a loan, fur you see 
Since poverty entered my door liill, 



GLEANINGS. 59 



Old friends don't appear to know nie. 
Oh ! yes there is one, it is Johnson 

\\'ho keeps the saloon, 1 will 00 
At once to him liillie, he'll help you. 

He .^'ot all of onr money yon know. 

He'll walk right np like a man and say 

"Here take it my boy, it is yours" 
What's that you are sayini^, that Johnson 

Was fust one to kick you out doors. 
W^as fust one to have you arrested. 

Was fust one to blow^ out on you. 
The principle witness ai^in you? 

Mv stars! what's the world conn'n to! 

A\ ell ])illie your case is a sad one, 

I have been sich a worldly man, 
And never was much of a ]^rayer ; 

But now 1 will do what I can. 
Your mother and Kittie will help me 

They pray for you mornin and nig-ht. 
And try it a little yourself lad. 

And (^od will make ev'rythinj^- right. 

You don't want my i)rayers, they won't help \ou 

My God, has the youngster gone mad! 
He stands thar, and actually curses. 

Yes, curses his gray headed dad. 
I brought you to this, did T liillie? 

I caused you to drink, did you say? 
You fust larnt to love it with me in 

The tavern that stood bv the wav. 



60 GLEANINGS. 

A\>11- — mebl:)}^ you are right my Billie ; 

I hit as shure's thar's a God a1:)Ove 
1 never inteiuled to wrong you. 

Hie child of my youth and my love. 
The pride and hope of declinin' years 

I loved you far better than life, 
And I would have died to have saved you 

From an hour of trouble and strife. 

Yes, I would have given ni}^ heart's blood 

Fur you and I've brought you to this, 
Through a little fun Fve dragged you down. 

Down, down to the blackest abyss. 
Forgive me, Oh ! Billie forgive me ! 

Don't jeer at my mis'ry, I pray, 
Come nigher and say you forgive me. 

He won't ! he is turnin' away. 

You'll never forgive n^e, you hate me. 

You cuss me, is that what you said? 
You'll die like a dog en the gallows, 

And your blood will be on my head. 
Then father in heaven have mercy, 

Look down here on me in my woe. 
Henceforth I will be a wanderer 

An outcast with no whar to go. 

I can't go back to the women folks 

With his curse it would drive them wild. 
And I w\\\ be hanted ever more 

By the ghost of my murder'd child. 
Oh ! mother was right it was ruin, 

I see it too late, fur alas! 
Ten thousand devils was lurkin' thar 

In the depths of that social glass. 



CLEANINGS. 6J 



THE NIGHT BRINGS FORTH THE STARS. 

Thoii.qh flay with its duties has ended. 

The rol^ins flown home to their nest, 
Earth foldeth lier ni«ht rohes about her 

And nature seems sad and depressed. 
Thoug'h Phoebus his 1)right face lias hidden 

Tjehind the great nebulous bars. 
Remember 'tis night, and night only 

That brings forth the beautiful stars. 

And thus ^vhen our lives are overshadowed, 

\\'hen sorrow hangs over our way, 
AMien Fate her dark hand has extended 

1\) shut out hopes wonderful ray. 
Remember 'tis sent }Ou, this darkness. 

That some hidden, some sacred light. 
Alight shine in its magical splendor. 

Like the glori'us stars in the night. 

'Tis off of the thorniest flushes 

^\'e gather the sweet scented rose. 
It is out in the swamp and the mire 

The pure, fair water lily grows, 
In dreary and darksome recesses 

llie brightest of jewels abound. 
In the stony bosom of sorrow^ 

The germs of true manhood are found. 

Are patience, and effort and courage 
The offsprings of lux'ry and wealth? 

Does pity, the balm of affliction 
Issue from the fountain of health? 



62 GLEANINGS. 



Is solace, sweet angel of mercy 
That cheers us in pain or despair. 

Sent forth from the palace of pleasure. 
From hearts free from sc^rrow and carej^ 

( )h, no! if we've nothing to strive for. 

Perseverance would be but vain. 
True courage was born of affliction. 

And patience, of sorrow and pain. 
'Tis ever in hearts that have sufifered 

Pure sympathy can be awak'ned. 
'Tis only from flowers that are crushed 

The sweetest of i)erfumes arc tak'n. 

We read of the suff'rings of nations 

Afar, but it's wdth tearless eye. 
We read through the glasses of duty. 

We sigh with a dutiful sigh, 
Put if our heart's touched by some sorrow. 

Or stirred by some similar need. 
Our |)ulse will vibrate with true pity. 

With tears in our eyes we will read. 

P'en death has a wonderful mission. 

Though it rolxs us of those we love. 
It draws our hearts from our surroundings 

To long for that meeting above. 
Xo matter how heav}^ your loss is, 

Xo matter how great your despair. 
Doesn't Heav'n seem nearer and brighter 

To know that some loved one is there? 



GLEANINGS. 63 



Why! we would soon weary of l)lessint^s, 

If they thronged at our door each day. 
Spring- flow'^ers would not be so lovely 

If roses e'er bloomed by the waw 
If life w^ere but one burst of sunshine 

June mornings w^ould not be so bright. 
( )nlv they who have known the darkness 

Can fully enjov the light. 

^Misfortune then oft is a l)lessing. 

Grief sweetens the bitterest thought. 
^Fan}^ a change in the human breast 

By sorrow and ])ain has l)een wrought. 
Ah ! manv a \ictim of fashion 

Is rescued by some sudden loss. 
For the heart nnist go through the furnace 

Before it is cleansed of its dross. 

So murmur not then at your burden, 

Idiough heav}' and tiresonie it pro\es, 
'l^is a token of (iod's affection. 

He chastiseth those whom he loves, 
"Tis e\'er for some noble purpose 

He sends these afflictions to you, 
For night, and night only revealeth 

The stars in their haven of blue. 




LEAVING HOME 



GLEANINGS. 65 



A COQUET'S VICTORY. 

(A true story). 

'Twas New Years Eve and the farm house 

Was aglow with warmth and lii^ht ; 
But the group around the fire side 

Was a saddened one that night ; 
For Ned the pride of the household 

Ere the dawn of another day 
Was going to seek his fortune 

In the city, far away. 
"Ned" said the father, tcnderl}' 

"You have been a dutiful son 
It is hard to see you lea\'e us. 

But alas it must be done." 
But old John ]\Ioore, my boyhood friend 

Has promised to see to you. 
And though he is a millionaire 

fie's honest, good and true. 
And they say his only daughter 

Is wonderful, sweet and fair ; 
You'll never get into trouble, lad 

If you get to going there : 
For Avomen are kind of angels 

To cheer and guide us a^ong. 
^>s stick to the women folks, lad, 

And you will never do wrong." 
"Ned" said the mother, tearfully, 

"^^'ill you grant this prayer of mine? 
Ive alw^ays had such a horror 

Of the sad results of wine ; 
And if yoii will only promise 



66 GLEANINGS. 



Xo matter where ere aou be, 
That you will not touch the wine cup, 

'Twill be a comfort to me.'' 
"O, promise her, Xed," cried Kitty, 

'*Yes, promise her dear, "said May. 
"Please brother," said little Annie. 

"'^Fwill cheer her when you're away."' 
And so the i)r(^mise was ^ixen 

To the famil} one and all ; 
l)Ut there on this rural ])iclure 

\\'e will let the curtain fall 

Chapter second. A year later. 

'Twas N^ew Years eve and the mansion 

Was aglow with warmth and light ; 
For it was the daughter's birthday, 

A ball w^as given that night. 
As if from some fairy bower 

Through the silken curtain door, 
"S'es into the brilliant ball room 

Came beautiful Aileen Moore. 
Arra\ed in her azure vehet. 

\\'ith her laces rich and rare. 
Diamonds flashed on her snowy neck 

And gleamed in her golden hair: 
A proud smile curved her rul)}' lips 

As she glanced around, for well 
She knew^ that of all the fair ones 

She was the fairest, the belle: 
She knew that many a gallant 

1 onged for a smile or a glance 
That mauA' a ])ulse was thrilling, 



GLEAXTNGS. 67 



1\) claim luT hand in the dance ; 
But to the suri)rise of many 

A\'ith a smile or sli,^ht remark. 
She ]:>assed them 1)_\-, and went direct 

To her father's lunnble clerk. 
That morn, when Melton, a lo\'cr 

A\'as i^lancinj^' o\er the list 
Of invitations extended. 

And gloating o'er those she'd missed, 
AVith a startled exclamation. 

He cried ^vith a mocking sneer. 
"So Horton, the ccnmtry bnm])kin 

Is to grace your hall, ni}' dear?" 
And the maiden blushed and answered, 

"Yes papa would have it so. 
Young Horton is the only son 

Of a chum of long ago ; 
It never would do to slight him, 

So dear papa says, and then 
He is just as well looking, sir 

"As any of you young men." 
*A\'ell looking ah, that's true, no doubt; 

But the oddest notions, why 
He's one of the Washington sort 

AAdio has never told a lie. 
A\'on"t smoke even a cigarette. 

And we boys have tried in vain 
To get him play a game of cards. 

Or take a glass of champagne. 
T promised mother I would not. 

And I must not break my vow.' 
That's what he alwavs says to us. 



-fc" 



"♦fe^. -■ / 




TEMPTAllON 



GLEANINGS. 69 



And Ailccn, no matter h()^v 
We urge liini, he is Hrni and stron.s: 

As any rock in the land. 
I don't l^eHeve he would touch a drop 

Not e'en from your own fair hand.'" 
"He will," cried the maiden, lirmly, 

"'Tis ni}' birthday ball, and he 
Shall drink ni}' health in rub}' wine, 

And you shall be there to see;" 
For she knew the }oung- man's secret 

That he strove in vain to hide, 
She had laughed and called it folly ; 

But recalled it now with pride. 
Yes she knew how much he loved her, 

And she meant to use her powder. 
Then there rose a long discussion, 

That continued for an hour; 
But it ended in a w^ager 

That the maiden swore to win, 
And now she stood by Horton's side 

And it was time to begin. 
She walked with him, she danced with him 

And she gave her sweetest smiles 
'Till his heart and brain were fired 

With the magic of her wiles. 
He led her to the dining hall 

With a ])roud and conscious air. 
For he knew he was the envy 

Of every fellow there. 
They stood before the festive board — 

O, what a glorious scene ! 
"Come boys," cried one, "let's drink the health 



70 GLEANINGS. 



Of our hostess, fair Aileen." 
"Agreed." The sparkling wine was poured, 

And every glass was filled, 
She watched them drink, she heard the cheers 

But young Horton's hand w^as stilled. 
"Ah! wdiat you do not drink my health?" 

She exclaimed in fain surprise ; 
"I thought you'd he the first" and tears 

Bedimmed the violet eyes. 
She filled the glass with tempting wine 

As she murmured soft and low, 
'"Tis my birthday, you'll drink my health. 

You cannot refuse, I know." 
"I cannot drink your wine, fair one 

Though much I would do for you ; 
In water, I will drink your health 

Tell me now, will that not do?" 
The pretty heiress shook her head, 

"You must drink in wine," she said, 
"The others did and you must too. 

Just a little, please dear Ned." 
She held a glass of ruby wine : 

But the young man never stirred. 
"I promised mother I would not. 

And I must not break my word." 
"Tied to a woman's apron strings" 

Came a sneering voice, close by. 
"He's mamma's pet, he's sissy's pride. 

Looks as if he'd like to cry." 
He heeded not these sneering taunts, 

For his eyes were bent on her. 
He heard a sob. Her eyelids drooped. 



GLEANINGS. 7J 



"( ) 1 thought you loved nic sir: 
T\uX \ find I am mistaken, 

\u)Y an odd and fooh'sh whim. 
Vou will not grant my little wish. 

() she dared not look at him! 
He rose, his face was deadly white. 

And exclaimed in trembling tone, 
"I'll drink your wine, I'll break my word; 

l>ut for N'our sweet sake, alone." 
He raised the fatal tempting glass 

And ever}' drop was drained. 
Ah! The co(|uet won her wager, 

And an awful victory gained. 
And the demons laughed in trium]:)h 

( )'er the results of that ball ; 
lUit the angels \ve])t in Hea\en. 

We will let the curtains fall. 

Chapter third. Conclusion. 

'Twas Xew Years Eve at the farm house, 

.\nd two long, long years had jjassed 
Since the opening of my story. 

And Xed had come home at last. 
'l^vas hard for them to realize 

As thev grouped around his 1)ed, 
That the stricken wreck of manhood. 

Was their handsome, generous Xed. 
ived and swollen w^ere his features. 

1\)rn and tattered were his clothes ; 
liut the inner shame and sorrow. 

Ah! none but the Master knows. 
Where were the hopes, ambition, all 




DEATHBED SCENE 



GLEANINGS. 73 



That he had taken away 
^^^ith him upon that Xew Years morn? 

They were gone, all gone for aye! 
The stricken father howed with grief 

Asking aid from Him above ; 
While the weeping sisters strove in vain 

To solace him with their love. 
The poor crazed mother wrung her hands 

As she wildly paced the floor, 
And uttered curses on the head, 

Of the cruel Aileen Moore. 
Afar ofl:* in her city home, 

By her lover ^lelton's side. 
She was laughing, flirting, jesting. 

Caring not who lived or died. 
She little thought of the sorrow, 

That her piece of fun had brought 
She little dreamed of the misery 

That her little joke had wrought. 
She cared not that the strong young life, 

(The life that she could have saved) 
^\'as drifting speedily away 

•Away to a drunkard's grave. 



Drifting out into the darkness, 
Drifting far beyond recall. 

But upon that awful picture 
^^'e will let the curtain fall. 



74 GLEAXTXGS. 



DAD'S CUNNING. 

What. niarr>' my Lilly? no sir rce ! 

She ain't for the Hkes of you. young- man 
"Can't help lovin her" of course you can't. 

Like you to show ir,e the one that can. 
Cheery and blithsome as any bee. 

Putty as a red bird. i)rettier too. 
The s])ryest heifer in yonder herd 

Can not compare with my little Lue. 

"She is an ant^el, as pure, divine. 

Lovely as \ enus" hey! did you say 
You can't live without her? ha-ha-ha — 

You've lived without her many a day. 
"Matches w^as made in heaven" ( )h }es! 

lUit not this here one, it wasn't sir; 
'Tw^ouldn't be long- till she tired of _\'ou, 

'T wouldn't be ^>ug- till you tired of her. 

Can't live without her — ( )h hddle-sticks ! 

Needn't come talkin sich stuff as that. 
Xot you with your high flung city ways, 

^^'ith your store clothes and your high to]) liat. 
You with that down on your u])per lip. 

Your small white hands and your big gold cane 
Your mincing- walk and your wheedling voice, 

.\s though you suff"ered the greatest ])ain. 

My gal's a rollikin country gal 

Free the meadow\s and forest to roam. 

Yes, free as the mountain air she breathes 
What w^ould she do in vour citv home? 



GLEANINGS. 75 



Do yon see that l)ir(l in xonder tree? 

It's sino'ing- g'aily neath the l)hie sky. 
But shut it up in a gilded cage 

And mighty soon it would droop and die. 

You take my gal to your city home, 

Surround her with fashion day by day. 
Load her with finery, stufi" her with styk\ 

It won't be long till she fades away, 
Then when the light has gone from her eyes, 

The rose from her cheek, 'tis sure to be, 
Oh! whar would your love be then sir whar? 

Wouldn't give that for it, no — sir — r — e — e. 

No, go ye l^ack to your city home. 

Choose you a wife from the butterflies 
That flutter around you ev'ry whar, 

Feed her on flatt'ry, feed her on lies. 
That is the kind of a wife for you, 

One that will tough you out, I will bet. 
No don't flop down on your knees that way, 

Your pants is new and the grass is wet. 

Thar's young Peat Aldon, the widow's son. 

He's full of energy, full of pluck. 
He has loved my Luly ever since 

She was just knee high to yonder duck. 
He's strong of muscle and strong of limb 

He's not afeard of the plow and hoe, 
And I believe that the gal loved him 

Afore you come here three months ago. 



76 GLEANINGS. 



Now listen sir I've somethin to say. 

I'm not a beo:,c:ar 1)y any means! 
Do you see theni tlocl-s, and see them herds? 

Do you see this land its g'rand old scenes? 
I've a heep of money too besides 

'Twill all belong to my little Lue, 
Yes — that is, sir, if she marries IVat. 

Xarry a cent if she marries vou. 

That makes you s(|uirm — well 1 knowed it would. 

You're a little faint you have heard bad news, 
Must haste away on the east bound train, 

Well stump uj) anv lie that }Ou choose. 
A\'ill I say good by to dear Miss Lue, 

And say to her you have thought it o'er. 
And think it best to take my advice? 

Pity you hadn't thought it afore. 

Good morning sir, he has gone, thank God ! 

My child is saved from a life of woe 
By the cunnin of her sly old dad. 

The truth of it she shall never know. 
Her heart won't break she will marry Peat 

And have my money and blessings too. 
Heaven will smile on a match like that' 

Of young Peat Aldon, and little Lue. 



GLEANINGS. 77 



LIND MANOR. 

f f T were a poet of great renown ; 

(But that I can never be,) 
1 Avonld sit me dow^n with pen in hand. 

And I'd strive to make you see 
This grand old home, this beautiful home 

That stands \vay back from the street. 
Surrounded by trees of emerald hue 

And flowers fragrant and sweet. 

I'd tell of Captain, the big black dog, 

That nightly paces the yard, 
And over the home and loved ones there 

Keeps ever a faithful guard. 
And Dewy, the wee brown pony pet. 

Of his cunning tricks, his neigh, 
How he nips his food froni out our hands 

In the cutest kind of way. 

Then I would give you a ]:)eep within 

The lofty and spacious hall, 
AVith its pictures fair, its mirrors bright. 

That almost cover the wall ; 
Its winding stairs and their quaint carved post 

A\'here Gerniania nighth- stands, 
Garlands bedecking her roA-al brow, 

A lamp in her dimpled hands. 

The elegant parlors all thrown in one, 

I'd give you a look in there, 
The decorations of rose and gold, 

AVith borders of roses rare; 
The fine old paintings from artists skilled, 



78 GLE AXING S. 



Statues of beauty and ,^race, 
The polished tioors with their soft rich rug^s, 
The curtains of purest lace ; 

The grand piano e'er open wide, 

A\diere Emilie sits and plays, 
Dick, the canary, flitting around 

"Monarch of all he surveys." 
And then I'd show you the dining room 

\\'here often I seat myself. 
Its china closets, their rich contents. 

The cuckoo clock on the shelf. 

The pretty urns of fresh cut flowers. 

And Mattie the smiling maid. 
Whose busy fingers rest not until 

The table is neatly laid. 
That table, Oh ! I'd tell you about ; 

But there I fear I would fail ; 
You'd only call it a dream of mine,' 

Or a wond'rous fairy tale. 

The host and hostess 1 might describe 

In my brief and simple wa}-, 
A stately man with a social look, 

And a proud commanding way ; 
A lovely woman with graceful form 

And a smile for ev'ry one ; 
But then you would think I'd told you all 

\\'hen I scarcely had begun. 

How could I ever describe or tell 
(For you see I have no art) 



GLEAXTNGS. 79 



( )f the precious, li'eins of soul and luind. 

The wealth t)f each noble heart. 
The g"ifts bestowed b}^ those gen'rous hands. 

Supplying- the wants and needs, 
I'he struggling mortals hel])e(l u|) and on 

By their cheering words and deeds, 

The sunshine gi\'en to darkened lives, 

The hope to those who desj^ond. 
The blessings springing from seed the\"ve sown 

To bloom in the bright beyond. 
The cordial welcome they gi\e to all 

In their grand old home. lUit I 
Can never, never tell you of half ! 

And so rV. not even try. 



THE EMPTY CAGE. 

FOR E. A. H. 

Our cage is empt\', our l)irds ha\e tlfnvn. 

What sorrow, yea what deep despair ! 
Within this line these few brief words 

A mother's hand has written there. 
I read the letter o'er and o'er 

A\ ith aching heart, through blinding tears, 
\\'hile memory drifted slowly back. 

Back through the vista of long years. 

And is it true that both are gone. 

These children that \ loved so dear. 
Sweet Stella with the springing step. 



80 GLEANINGS. 



And merry laiig^h so soft and clear? • 
Dear Stella with the eyes of blue 

And cheeks like roses just in bloom, 
With all her beauty, freshness, youth. 

Shut up within the cold dark tomb? 

And Ora with the soft dark eyes. 

The sweet low voice, the patient smile 
And yet I always felt that she 

A\'as here but for a little while. 
Too delicate for earthly strife, 

Too frail to bear life's weary load 
So angels took her back to Heav'n, 

This consecrated child of God. 

'T'm lonely since dear sister died" 

How often she was heard to cry. 
"Since little Stella went away 

The days and nights drag slowly by," 
You are not lonely Ora now, 

For free from sorrow, care and pain 
\\ here parting never more will come, 

You've clasped your darling one again. 

But o'er the homestead you have left. 

A shadow deep and dark is cast. 
That never more will be dispelled. 

But deeper grow while life doth last, 
Two gray haired parents weep alone. 

No fresh young voices come to cheer. 
No joyous steps, no merry songs, 

No strains of music sweet and clear. 



GLEANINGS. 81 



Look up sad hearts be comforted, 

The birds yon reared with tend'rest care. 
Are singing in elysium fields, 

Xo storms can ever reach them there. 
Be comforted, for few can say 

As you can now, "()h Lord to thee 
I give them back Avith hearts as pure, 

A\'ith souls as white and minds as free 

"From evil thoughts, of wrong or sin, 

Of wickedness as when they came 
Two helpless, bright-eyed, smiling babes. 

To bless your home and share your name. 
Oh precious words ! Oh solace sweet, 

Oh glor'ous promise God has giv'n. 
You'll meet again, ere long you'll meet 

Beside the great white throne of Heav'n. 



IN MEMORY OF PRESIDENT McKINLEY. 

There's a shadow o'er our nation, 

Ev'ry heart with sorrow swells. 
W'hile the Autumn air resoundeth 

A\'ith the tolling fun'ral bells. 
Oh! whence came this gloom and darkness? 

Hope and light should reign instead ! 
Echo answers softly, sadly, 

*'He is dead, AIcKinley's dead." 

Dead ah yes! how true, how real, 

He the ruler of our land. 
Stricken down in all his glory, ^ ' 



82 GLEANINGS. 



V>y a cruel, nmrd'rons hand, 
A\'hile his face was wreathed in smilini^i*, 

A\^ords of welcome greeted all. 
In the 'midst of friends and loved ones 

Came that fatal wicked ball. 

Day and night they hovered o'er him. 

Striving to allay his pain. 
As a Nation's prayer 'rose heavenward, 

Hopes alas! w^ere all in vain. 
In the solemn hnsh of morning. 

Hearts were aching, eyes were dim, 
Death the white-robed angel entered. 

Came and took him home with him. 

Not a harsh word of his murd'rer 

Spake this patient sufif'ring one. 
And his last words faintly uttered, 

"Not our Will, but God's be done.'' 
Oh ! the grand example left us 

By our noble President! 
May it shine like stars forever, 

Bright'ning earth and firmament. 

To the wife bereft so meanly, 

Gladly would we all express 
Half our sympathy and sorrow 

For her loss ; but God knows best ! 
He has led her dear one onward, 

Led him to a brighter shore, \ 

He will lead her, he will guide her \ v 

Home where parting is no more. " ^ 



GLEANINGS. 83 



KEEPING A LITTLE NEGRO'S PLACE. 

I's a iiij^^g-er, \es, T know it! 

'Taint no nsc to tell me dat. 
Orter keep my jjlace, she told me ; 

^^'ish I'd ast her whar it's' at. 
She's our wisiter from Boston, 

A\'ears sich shiny pins and rinj^s. 
Dresses that stand out and rattle 

And de mostest purty tliini>s. 

She's not j)urty, no indeed sar ! 

Has the blaekest ui^i'est frown. 
All us little niggers seam])er 

W hen we see her comin 'round. 
Once she seed me on de stairway, 

Like to scurd her most to def : 
Ebber time I tinks al)out it. 

Laugh myself clean out of bref. 

Lawdy how she yelled and hollow'ed ! 

"lAicy, Lucy come and see ^ 
Something black, ()! something awful!" 

It wasn't nuffin else but me. 
Sweet Miss Lucy cum a runnin, 

Seed me and she laughed outright. 
"Kathern what a silly creature, 

Scared at such a little mite !" 

Den her little hands Hke snow flakes. 

Patted me upon mv head. 
"Hunting for me? want my ])encil? 

You sliall have it'' then she said. 



84 GLEANINGS. 



"Kathe'rin let me introduce you 
To our boy, now this is Sam, 

He's the nicest little darkey 

In the land." I'm ijlad 1 am! , 

Den Aliss Kaitern turned her nose up 

Like she smelt an awful smell, 
"Saying, what ! that little vermin. 

How could he be nice? pray tell! 
He is just a little negro. 

And should keep a negro's place. 
I could never bear one near me, 

How I do detest the race. 

''Why are you u]jon the stairway? 

Into mischief I've no doubt. 
Hunting for something to steal sir? 

Don't you lie, you rogue, get out !" 
Den she drawed her skirts back dis way, 

Wid a mean look in her eye. 
"Run away" Miss Lucy whisper'd. 

"You're a good boy, don't you cry." 

Yes I's des a little nigger; 

But fur dat I do not keer, 
'Twas de talk about me stealin 

Dat has hurt me mostest here 
In my side. She's des as hateful. 

Called me rogue, I'm not dat bad, 
AVouldn't steal fur all de Avorld, sar, 

Dat would make Miss Lucy sad. 

Showly I's as nice as dogs is! 
Offen I has seed her dar 



GLEANINGS. 85 



Settin" in dat easy rocker, 
Combin of her poodle's liar. 

I have seed her hug and kiss him. 
Seed him lick- her hands and face. 

Seed her feed him at the table. 
Wonder now if dat's his place ! 

Keep my place I'd like to do it. 

If I's show dat I had one, 
Ebber whar I goes, she cums dar. 

Den ob conrse I has to run. 
Guess she finks its in de cabbin ; 

Rut my mammy said to-day. 
She was gwine to do some washin 

And I'd be right in her way. 

In de dinin room, it may be, 

Wliar de big long table's spread, 
Den ob course I'd eat de goodies 

And old Miss would kill me dead, 
Maybe it's widin de parlor, 

Settin in dat big arm-cheer, 
Long aside ob de piano ; 

But Miss Lucy den might keer. 

AFammy says dat way up yonder. 

Higher dan de big blue skies, 
Dar's a world whar all de people 

Goes dat nebber steals and lies ; 
Dar de sun is al'ays shinin. 

Birds is singin', flowers grow. 
Mammy says it beats Kinlucky; 

Reckon now dat could be so? 



GLEANINGS. 



Mammy says dar's lots ob g^ood thinc^s 

Scattered all around up dar, 
Ginger bread — and pies — and lasses — 

Alai^le sug^ar eber vvhar ; 
And slie says dars tops and marbles. 

Kites and balls and beei)s ob to\s; 
And sbe says de o^ood Lawd al'a^s 

Gibs some to de cullerd l)oys. 

And she says dar's 'ots ob ano,els 

Dressed in white wid shiny wini^s. 
Makin' music, sweetest music, 

Singin' like Miss Luc}- sings. 
A\'on't she be a belle among em"-' 

r>e de pnrt'cst one I know! 
}\lammy says ("e good Lawd Jesus 

Gwine to make us white as snow. 

Won't I laugh den at Miss Kaffern? 

I'll be whiter dan she am, 
She can't call me a black vermin. 

Spec she'll call me Mr. Sam. 
In dat w^orld wdiar aU is good folks, 

Whar (ley don't despise our race, 
If 1 hnd it, I'll l.e show to 

Keep a little nigger's place. 



GLEANINGS. 87 



IN MEMORY OF RHODES CLAY. 

The Brilliant Young Representative of Audrain 
Co., who was slain July 10th, 1902. 

\\c is "one while the siiniiner is rich in its harvest. 

And flowers are yieldiiii^- their rarest ])erfume ! 
He's gone while the air is re\erl)eraiit with mi.isic, 

And Xature is reveling in l)eanty and bloom, 
^^es, gone, when ATissonri has nvcd of the talent, 

That shone like a star o'er her dark rugged way; 
He was snatched from his homestead, snatched 
from our circle. 

He whom we honored, brave, generous Rhodes 
Clay. 

Twas far, far away in the heart of the South land, 

\A'here myriads of flowers in fragrance e'er blow, 
Where birds warble sweetlv through morn, noon 
and evening. 
Just twenty and se^•en brief sununers ago. 
There came to the h(^me of a young Southern 
planter, 
A baby whose smile could well \-ie with the ray 
Of Phoebus at morn; how the fond mother clasped 
him 
And blessed him aiid called him her little Rhodes 
Clav. 

l>ut kind Heaven knew that Missouri had need of 
The talent and genius this boy would |)ossess ; 

So 1)rought him and gave him to us in his child- 
hood, 
Our city to brighten, our country to bless. 




RHODES CLAY 



GLEANINGS. 89 



How fondly we watched him from boyhood to man- 
hood 
How eagerly sought he new laurels each day. 
How proudl}' he wore them, how steadily cUmbed 
he, 
Fame's wonderful ladder, ambitious Rhodes 
Clay ! 

But just in the morn of a glorious manhood. 
just at the close of a victorious campaign, 
W hen plans for the good and the welfare of coun- 
try 
Were filling and thrilling his young heart and 
l^rain ; 
When home was so cherished and life full of prom- 
ise. 
And not e'en a cloudlet hung over his way. 
Grim Death without warning, grim Death without 

mercw 
Felled him, our brilliant, unsuspecting Rhodes 
Clay. 

Alas! what a sorrow has fallen u])on us, 

( )h ! \\hat a shadow overcasting our sky. 
Ah, shan^e to our people and shame to our nation, 

That men of such value thus cruelly die ! 
And who'll nil his place? There's none \vh<) can 
fill it. 

The poor ha\e been rol)bed of a friend an(J a 
stay, 
The rich of a guide, of a noble example, 

IMissouri her light in the death of Rhodes Clay. 



90 GLEANINGS. 



God pity the home that is l:)liohte(l, his dear ones, 

The father's heart breaking' with sorrow and 
pain. 
The sweet Christian mother who daily weeps over 

The gTa\'e of the lost one and calls him in vain. 
Bnt that flower-strewn ora\x is not all that's left us. 

He lives in onr hearts and will liveth for aye, 
Xo envy, no malice, no death with its venom, 

Can blot out the mem'ry of noble Rhodes Clav. 



THE CORNWALL STORY. 

PART FH^iST. 

'Twas a stormy night at Cornwall, 

The inky sea and sky 
Seemed blended into one black mass, 

The wdnds were raging high; 
The thunder roared and muttered and 

Idle breakers danced with glee 
As a vessel rolled and tumbled 

On that wild angry sea. 

Ev'ry sail was flapping loosely. 

Her mast was cut in twain. 
Captain and crew were helpless in 

Idle darkness and the rain; 
^\ hile high and dry beyond the tide 

The light-house old and gray 
Upon its rocky summit stood 

Not half a league away. 



GLEANINGS. 91 



No light shone from its i^rini old tower 

To those poor human souls, 
No light, not e'en a single ra}- 

To guide them from the shoals. 
"Aly (iod! where ean the keeper he"! 

The eaptain eried aghast. 
"We near the hreakers". groaned the mate, 

"And all must soon he lost!" 

And ah, where was the keeper! he 

Thoui^h faithful e'er hefore 
Had \ie!ded to the tem])ter and 

T.ay drunk u])on the floor: 
He heeded not the angry storm. 

Nor the appealing gun ; 
He heeded not the pleadings n\ 

His trend)ling little son. 

"Father, oh father, light the lamps!" 

Cried Joseph in afright, 
"The shi]) will dash to ])ieces on 

The rocks if there's no light! 
What makes you act so cpieer to-night? 

The men will drown ; up, cpiick 
/\nd light the lamps it is so dark! 

Why! father are yoti sick?" 

The father in his drunken sleep. 

\\u{ half awoke and said 
"Shut up! and hi^ht the lamps yourself;" 

"Ihit father I'm afraid!" 
The little fellow^ paused and hhished ; 

Thous^h father did not hear. 



92 GLEANINGS. 



"\\ by, T mean to 1)e a sailor. 
And sailors never fear ; 

"liesides my n^othcr used to say 

lliat (iod is everywhere. 
I'm mighty sure no harm can come 

To me if He is there. 
I ve seen it done a hundred times, 

I can hut ^o and try ; 
Poor father's sick, so T must haste 

Or all those men may die." 

So he climbed the frail old ladder. 

His doubts and fears were orone ; 
'Tw^as God that nerved that little arm, 

'Twas faith that led him on. 
He climbed unto that dreary i)lace 

\\''ith brave and fearless tread. 
And the dark old rust}' lanterns 

Swnm,^: high al)ove his head. 

Piling chairs and stools together. 

He made a tottVing stand. 
Then climbed upon the top most round. 

And wnth his little hand 
He struck the match that lit the lamp 

That sent the light abroad 
That snatched a hundred men from death 

To live and work for (Iod. 



GLE AXING S. 93 



To The Children. 
(PART SECOND). • 

So now my little .i^irls and boys. 

You're very yonn_^- T know 
To be.^^in to work for Jesus ; 

But so was little Joe: 
"^'ou may not save a storm tossed ship. 

Its hopeless, helpless crew: 
But there's other work as noble 

That each of you can do. 

You can help to bear the burdens 

Of parents tired and ill, 
You can do their daily biddino^s 

With free and cheerful will; 
You can learn to belp each other. 

Be gen'rous to the poor, 
Turn not with scorn and loathino^ from 

The beog-ar at your door. 

\)e faithful at }our Sun(la\- Scliool. 

Be earnest when you ])ray. 
I'se no other words than kindness 

To those you meet each day : 
I'^or kindness is lani^uage that 

Even the dumb can speak. 
And the deaf can hear it children. 

Though it be soft and weak. 

You can help to raise the fallen. 

Remember they have been 
Like you, bright, happy children, and 



94 OLEANJNGS. 



As ])iirc and free from sin ; 
Yon can eninlate Christ's mercy. 

A friend in trial prove; 
Each day shonld be distini^nished b} 

At least one act of love. 

Yon can climb earth's ladder, trnstiniL^- 

In God's almig-hty j^ower, 
And lip^ht the lamp of faith within 

Yonr heart's most sacred tower. 
And some poor strni;-c>ling brother \vho 

On sorrow's billows tossed. 
^^'ill see its bright reflection and 

Perhaps may not be lost. 

Home is the port my dear yonn,"- friends 

From which the bark of life 
Sets sail npon an unknown sea, 

A sea with dangers rife ; 
Your bark, must ere lonij breast the wave. 

May it be not t(io frail ! 
Ah ! do not think 1(^ find always 

A warm and .^entle sale. 

On the isles of Disappointment 

You'll find }Our brigdit hopes cast. 
And your resolutions shaken 

By Failure's mighty blast : 
Dark clouds will gather over you. 

And storms of sorrow rise: 
But look aloof my little ones. 

There's li«"ht be\ond the skies. 



GLEANINGS. 95 



Choose Honor,. Prudence, Courage and 

Forbearance for your crew ; 
Choose Justice for your captain and 

Take Self-control with y(^u ; 
Shun the breakers of Temi)tation, 

Let Jesus be your g'uide. 
And you'll anchor safe in harbor 

Upon the other side. 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 

Twilight was trailing her purple robes 
Abroad o'er the land-scape bright, 

And unseen hands were setting the star 
In the diadem of night. 

The nightingale trilled its tender lay, 

A sweet farewell to the dying day. 

The pansies laughed in the mellow light 

When the zephyrs came to woo, 
Katydids chirped in the dewy grass, 

The roses smiled through the dew. 
And dark and high on the sloping hill 

The farm house stood all slumb'ring and still. 

And Mary the farmer's brown-eyed girl 

Hung over the garden gate 
AVaiting and list'ning for well known steps, 

And she had not long to wait. 
*'He comes" she cried, and her cheeks grew red 
As she caught the sound of the firm tread. 



% GLEANINGS. 



He came and the pansies drooped their heads. 

And the roses really blushed : 
The cricket hid in the grass near by. 

And the night-bird's song was hushed ; 
The zephyrs paused in their sport and play 
To hear what the lover had to say. 

And what did he say, that stalwart man. 
With his sun-browned face aglow% 

And his honest eyes so full of love? 
It was something sweet, I know^ ; 

For her eyes had grown so wond'rous bright 

They shamed the stars from the brow of night 

The work was light in the house next day. 

The bread was easily made, 
The cream was rich and the butter firm. 

The berries all in the shade, 
And Mary's song was so sweet and clear 

That the robin ceased his owm to hear. 

And out in the field of farmer John 

The work was cheerfully done, 
The oxen paused at their own free ^vill 

To rest from the burning sun; 
For John cared not, and whistled away. 
For his heart was light that summer day. 



GLEANINGS. 97 



LOVE WORKS WONDERS. 

\\'h}- are you crying- so, Stella dear? 

A\'liat is the matter? 1 gently said, 
Xoting- the wee form bending with sol)S. 

The saddened droop of the golden head 
Ouickl}^ the violet eyes were raised. 

Those eyes that yet in fanc}' 1 see. 
And the trem'lous rose-])U(l mouth rei)lied. 

"Auntie — tause — nobody- — loves me." 

Xobody loves \ou ? wh\- what a thought! 

Is it because 1 was cross to day? 
Auntie was tired, not angry, T said. 

That's the reason she sent you away. 
I love \ou Stella. 1 softly said. 

And raised in my arms the sobbing child. 
And pressed on the soft wet cheek a kiss. 

Idle babe looked up through her tears and smiled, 

A moment more and 1 heard her shout 

Down in the tiowery garden path ; 
She was chasing butterflies of Spring: 

I smiled when 1 heard her ha])py laugh : 
Sunshine has taken the ]:)!ace of clouds. 

(T said,) and her doubts are now removed, 
Her tears of sorrow are banished b>- 

ddie simple knowledge that she is loved. 

Oh! baby dear you are not alone, 

fn this big cold world there're many more 

Mung'ring, starving and crying for lo\e, 

\\ hose feet are weary, whose hearts are sore. 

Desolate. drear\-, forlorn indeed 



98 GLEANINGS. 



^lust be the heart that can truly say 
"Nobody loves nie," yet there're but few 
A\'ho have not at some time felt this way. 

The fruit of Autumn must have the rain. 

The flow'rs of Springtime the air and sun. 
And the heart must have its share of love 

Or hope is ended, and joy is done. 
As the mist and dews are e'er dispersed 

By the golden sun-beams from above, 
Our clouds of sorrow are swept away 

V>y words of kindness and acts of love. 



THE MISSING STOCKINGS. 

He silently crept down the chimney. 

The room lighted up w^ith his smile ; 
His arms were both loaded with presents, 

T cautiously watched him the while. 
He hastily filled up the stockings 

That hung o'er the l)ack of a chair: 
He paused with dismay in his labor, 

Alas! there was one missing pair. 

He hurriedly glanced at the pillow 

A mass of dark ringlets to see. 
But ah, they were gone with the stockings 

He muttered — ah — where can she be? 
The look on his dear jolly countenance 

Had changed for sadness and surprise. 
And would you believe if T told you 

Of tears in his kindly old eyes ! 



GLEANINGS. 99 



She's left us, yes Santa, the darhno- 

Whose stockings you've filled o'er and o'er 
The dark tano^led curls on the pillow. 

You see are beside me n(^ more. 
'Twas duty that uro^ed her to leave us. 

Ah ! duty is hard but ere right. 
Away in the Southland she s^eepeth. 

And dreameth of h^ved ones to-night. 

Oh, yes! I've no doubt she is dreaming 

Of home, and in fancy I hear 
A sigh swelling up from her bosom 

And see on her lashes a tear. 
There is many a homestead shadowed 

By time in its merciless flight. 
And over the absent and lost ones 

There are many hearts aching to-night. 

'Twas cruel oh, time to thus rob us ! 

No wonder we could not restrain 
Our tears for the dear niissing stockings 

That never will hang here again. 
But Santa said it's "no time for crying 

There's much to be done before dawn" 
So shoul'ring his pack with a whistle 

A nod and a whirl he was gone. 



100 GLEAXTXCS. 



BE A MAN, OH! BE A MAN. 

"Tel] iiK' not in niournliil nnnil)t'rs" 

Life is <Iull and all f(>rl()rn. 
That the man is sick who sUnnhers 

I'ntil ten o'clock at morn. 
"Life is real, life is earnest/' 

And the bed is not its i^'oal. 
Drinkini^", loahn^-. slee])ino', smokini;-. 

Was not s])oken of the sonl. 

"Li\es of ,L;reat men all rennnd us" 

\\'e could do more if we would. 
We each da^• could lea\e behind us 

In our |)atlnva} seeds of i^ood. 
Seeds of usefulness and honor. 

That Avould thrixe. and bud. and bloom, 
Helping- fellow.men and women. 

Hel])ini4- .Mexico to boom. 

A\'aste not then your jjrecious moments. 

S])innin!J- yarns that can't be beat. 
Wearino" out the ,iirocer\- boxes 

With }-our well worn trouser's seat. 
Do not haste, it ma\' fatii^'ue you, 

Ev'er}- niiLiiit to some saloon. 
Hang around till some one treats \ou. 

Xo, for that will iday out soon. 

Xay, you cannot li\'e on vai)or. 

Xor upon \our nightl\' sup — 
Father, mother, wife or sister 

\\'orks somehow to kee]) you up. 



GLEAXIX(;S. lOl 



There's the factory, hands are nee(k'(l. 

Raih'oads. men are in demand. 
Shovel snow, or shoxel ,^ra\el, 

.\nythin,<^" that comes to hand. 

^'r)U may han^- npon the corner 

Hui^"i;i"in|Li' lani]) ])osts day h}' day. 
Opportunity is modest. 

She will ne\'er jkiss your way. 
Work will ne\-er jl^o to seek you, 

^'ou must find it. and you can. 
Do not be a mouse or beetle. 

r>e a man, "Oh! be a man." 

Neither \vaste \oin* «ohlen moments 

Pining' o'er "'It mi^ht ha\e been," 
Moiu-ninj^" for some fancied losses. 

Rouse yoin-self and try aj^ain. 
Let us then be uj) and doino- 

With a will for any ])art, 
rhere is beauty in the dtity. 

Done with cheerful hands and heart. 

THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR, 

And so it is ,^-one, the old, ()ld year. 

"Ah. \es, it is i^one for aye;" 
( )ur hearts ^.^row sad as we sav farewell. 

And silentl}" turn awa}'. 
While borne to us on the luidnii^'ht air. 

So joyous, so sweet, so clear. 
Come the chime of bells, the sound of guns, 

'I'o welcome the sf-ad New A'ear. 



J02 GLEANINGS. 



Come, sit us down, let us try to think 

How the old year has been spent, 
The golden hours that were given us 

Have we passed in discontent? 
Have we made our home that should be brioht 

A place of darkness and dread? 
And wasted moments in useless tears 

Over hopes forever dead ? 

If our neighbor thrived and we did not, 

Have we raved and railed at fate? 
And turned with anger from good advice 

I'o mutter the word "too late?" 
If a sister fell on life's rough way. 

Did we strive to hold her down? 
Did we smile at others' pain and grief. 

At another's pleasures frowni? 

Have we sought for friendship but to crush. 

And the love we've won betrayed. 
And with falsehood, cold deceit and sneers, 

Have we kindness oft repaid? 
The answer comes to my questic^ns all, 

"It is much too true, I fear. 
And the opportunities for good 

Are gone with the old, old year.'' 

Come, let us rise from these vain regrets. 

There is something else to do. 
Let's turn a leaf in the book of life 

And begin the world anew. 
Let us live for something else but self, 

For such living is but vain ; 



GLEANINGS. 103 



\\'e know that by selfishness and spite 
There is nothing we can gain. 

1 here's work for all and whate'er our task, 

Let's cheerfully take a part, 
For an evil scheme and deed spring forth 

From an idle brain and heart. 
I-et us live that when this 1)right new year 

Has passed away like the rest, 
We can say, and feel that it is true, 

"Thank God, w^e have done our best." 



ON THE DEATH OF AN UNCLE. 
W. D. B. 

Raise the curtain higher, Alattie, 

Let the sunlight flood the room. 
And its glor'ous brightness may have 

Power to chase away the gloom. 
You may open the piano, 

Place the music on the rack, 
Draw the stool a little nearer, 

For today she's coming back. 



Coming home, ah ! what a coming, 
Home 'twill be to her I know. 

Oh ! what changes since she left us, 
Scarcely one short year ago. 

Death has been here, 
Death has robbed us 

Of the one we loved so dear. 



104 GLEAN lN(iS. 



Far away, how could she ever 
Reahze he was not here. 

When the whistle of the engine. 

Tells her she is home again ; 
Eagerly from out the window 

Of the car she'll look in vain 
For the well known smile of welcome. 

That she's often seen before. 
( )f the dear old man who waited. 

For her coming o'er and o'er. 

A\dien she sees the empty corner. 

When she sees the vacant chair. 
And the trunk of folded garments 

Sitting in the corner there. 
When his cheery voice no longer. 

Wakens her at early dawn. 
She will realize as we do 

He is gone, forever gone! 

(lone! but he has left behind him. 

Not a vain world's useless fan^e. 
lUit a i)ure and s])otless record. 

And a clean, untarnished name. 
And a mem'ry of a life time 

Spent in doing deeds of good. 
Spent for others, spent in sowing 

Seeds of kindness where he could. 

And to him the only l)rother. 

W^ho now treads life's path alone, 
S\veet indeed must be the mem'rv 



cjli:axin(;s. jo5 



( )f the days forever liovvn. 
Happy chil(lh(^*)(l. struj^glini;- manhood. 

Oh! the i^reat unselhsh love. 
I'hat united those two brothers. 

Equaled but in heaven above. 

Many were the ])leasant hours. 

That they spent in talkiui^" o'er 
Childhood plays and boyhood frolics. 

And of loved ones, now no more. 
How we miss tliose pretty stories, 

Hark! the whistle! 15eth has come. 
But the one who always met her 

Lannot bid her welcome home! 

Home! oh, no! "tis home n(^ lon«er' 

Since he left it. and my tears 
blow unceasing", as sweet mem'ries 

Rise of happy byoone years 
He through every joy and sorrow 

Was my never failing friend. 
Counselor and benefactor. 

Patient, gentle to the end. 

( )h ! when we are summoned thither. 

To that city bright and fair. 
( )n the platform of the station 

Cncle P.illy will be there. 
And with such a smile of welcome. 

As we've ne'er seen in the past. 
Saying. "I'm the first to meet you. 

Glad to see vou home at last." 



J06 GLEANIXnS. 



IT WAS NOT HER FAULT. 

We were sitting- l)y the window, 

'Twas a balmy night in June, 
From the depths of tangled forest 

Came the night birds mellow tune; 
While from out the azure Heavens 

Silver moonbeams softly strayed. 
In and out among the branches 

Of the trees, sweet zephyrs played. 

It was not my fault, that Arthur 

Stole his arm around my waist. 
For such squeezing in the moonlight 

Is not to my will or taste. 
A\'hen he pressed my hand so tightly 

As though he would ne'er let loose. 
Never tried I once to free it, 

For I thought it was no use. 

It was not my fault he kissed me. 

For I didn't ask him to. 
True ! I never tried to stop him, 

For I knew that wouldn't do. 
W^hen he told me that he loved me, 

WHiy ! I didn't even smile; 
But pretended to believe him, 

List'ning patiently the while. 

It was not my fault he asked me 

If I'd be his little wife ; 
"No" I strove so hard to answer; 

But could not to save my life ; 



GLEANINGS. - J07 



P^or I feared he would l)e anory, 
Or wcnild die with sore (hstress; 

So I bhished and merely gave him 
Just the little answer, "Yes." 

Oh ! I saw the moonbeams laughing. 

And my cheeks grew red with shame 
Saw the zephyrs fly to tell it ; 

They may say I was to blame ; 
So if you have chance to hear it, 

Do not censure as some would, 
For indeed I could not help it! 

And I w^ould not if I could. 



ONLY A COUNTRY GIRL. 
(Song.) 

He was just out from the city; 

A dude of the daintiest kind. 
She was a sweet rustic maiden 

With an innocent heart and mind, 
They strolled down the lane together, 

She believed every word he said. 
There was light in the sky, there was love in her 
eye 

As he planned for the day they'd wed. 

(Chorus) 

She was only a country girl, 
A smile and a dimple and curl. 
What cared he if her heart did ache, 



108 OLEAXTXr.S. 



He was amused s(3 let it l)reak. 
She was only a countrx- L^irl. 

She (h'oops with the Howers of aiituinn. 

( )iit there in her wee country home, 
ller l)hie eyes j^^rown (hm with watching 

I"'or the hner that ne\er will come. * 

"har" far away in the city 

He amuses his fashionahle set 
\\ ith the last summer's jnk^ the ])romise he broke 

To his dear little rustic pet. 

(Idiorus) 

"TO E. H. M. ON HIS RETURN HOME." 

So you've come hack from the far. far west. 

Come hack to your boy-hood's home. 
Come back to your friends who lo\e vou so. 

Who have longed for you to come. 
I heard the news and my heart grew still 

With a nameless dread and tears 
l>edimmed my eyes as 1 drifted back 

Thrr)uoh the vista of lonjo' years. 

Oh. time! (I cried) with your wondrous power 

Have >ou l)roug"ht to me once more 
The boy I used to love and pet 

In the hap])y days of yore? 
( )r ha\e you brought me a worldly man 

With a heart estranged and cold. 
Hardened and seared by temptations hand 

Instead of my boy of old? 



ru.EANINOS. 109 



1 said ,i^()(Kl-bye to a lu)])cfnl xonth 

( )ne beautiful Autumn daw 
] said |^()()d-l)ye, and "(lod l^less nou" too 

( )n your lon^- and lonel}- \va\" : 
I knew \()ur dreams and xour hopes and ])lan- 

How you longed for wealth and fame. 
In the far off city of the West. 

^^)u would win xourself a name: 

And now after years of absence you 

Have returned to us and ( ), 
^'ou are crowned with laurels of success! 

Vea, 1 knew it W()uld be so. 
liere take m\' hand let ine henr your \-oice, 

L.et me look into xour face. 
A little older. \ es. somewhat changed! 

Adorned with a manly i^race. 

I hit let me look in your heart's recess. 

Where in vanished years Tve seen. 
1 see its walls, thev are spotless white! 

And a record ])ure and clean. 
And a friendshii) tender as of old. 

( )h ! my heart is filled with jo}- ! 
And I sa}' thank < iod \-ou ha\e brinp^ht to me 

From the far, far west. "m\- box ." 



no GLEANINGS. 



"A BUD TRANSPLANTED." 

Dead! the news came hast'iiing to us, 

Brino^ing sadness to our hearts ; 
\\'ho is there that lias not felt the 

Sorrow that this w(jrld imparts? 
\'ehna's dead the message tells us ; 

But we know that she is not I 
Is a lily dead, trans])lanted 

To a fairer, brighter spot? 

When the evening sun has vanished 

In the balmy twilight late. 
One by one the neighbor's children 

Gather at the open gate ; 
One is missing at their frolics. 

One who'll never join them more 
One whose little feet are treading 

Now the bright celestial shore. 

In my fancy comes the voice 

Of a playmate o'er the way ; 
As I've often heard her calling, 

"Tome here Velma, tome and j^lay," 
Sadh% faintly comes the answer 

A\^ith a choking sob and tear, 
'T tant Dussie, mamma says so, 

I am sick ; so you come here." 

Gussie, Velma's sick no longer 
Listen you may hear her call, 

"Tome here Dussie, Desus says so, 
Tell the rest He wants vou all :" 



GLEANINGS. Ul 



"Wants }oii all." yes Jesus wants von 

To adorn his home on high ; 
There yon'll meet your little playmate 

Some day children if you try. 

Though your cross is great, hereaved ones. 

For some future good 'tis giv'n 
'Tis a precious chain that draws your 

Hearts from earthly things to heav'n ; 
Will your thoughts not often wander 

To that realm so bright and fair? 
\\'here your little A'elma's waiting 

For your coming over there. 



ELLENE. 

They say you are dead Dear Ellene, 
And of course T thought it was true : 

But I know to-night 

In this dim twilight, 

It can be no other, Init }ou. 

You sit at the organ Ellene, 

And sing in that voice sw^eet and clear. 
You're singing for me 
*'My sweet Jennie Lee," 

The song that I love so to hear. 

Oh! why did you lea\c us Fllene? 

You seem to be ha])py ; but oh ! 
The terrible pain 
Struck death to your brain, 

And made }ou so anxious to go. 



l\7 GLEANINGS. 



Tlic pain is all ^^onc now. EUene. 

Your suff'rinj^s have left you. for aye. 
In your new home above 
There's joy. hope and ^ove ; 

.\n(l so ril not uri^e you to sta}\ 

F)Ut eome ev'ry evening- Kllene. 

And sit at the orqan and sino-. 
(You never ean know) 
What peaee you bestow. 

\\ hat rest to my spirit you bring'. 



"SANTA CLAUS IS COMING." 

(Song.) 

O, Christmas is comini;. ( ) l)ri,qht. merry Christ- 
mas, 
Its snows and its sk^ij^h-bells. and Santa Claus 
too. 
And here b\" the chimne\- we'll lianj^' up our stoek- 
ings. 
( )ur longest red stocking;-, and maybe a shoe. 
1 hope he will bring- me a niee little roeker, 

A doll that ean cry and a tea set comi)lete. 
A pretty new hood and a trunk full of dresses. 
A whole lot of candy and goodies to eat. 

Chorus. 

( ), Santa is coming ( ), dear jolly Santa, 

Let's try and l)e good and he'll not slight a one ; 



GLEANINGS. US 



A\'e'll'shiit our eyes tioht and make b'Heve we are 
sleeping- 

Ha! Ha! we will fool him, now won't it be iuu'^ 
My nurse says that Santa is full of odd notions, 

She says when he comes should he find us awake 
He'll fly in a passion and all our nice presents 

To some little sleeper he quickly will take. 
So let us lie down and make b'lieve we are sleeping, 

We'll snore like papa wdien he goes fast asleep. 
And Santa will come if he thinks we don't see him, 

And fill up our stockings and ofif he will creep. 

My mamma saws Santa "don't like naughty chil- 
dren," 

So I have been good for a whole week or more, 
\\'hen Fred pushed me down in the g^utter this 
morning 

I didn't get niad, though my new dress he tore. 
The cake I w^as given last eve to stop crying, 

I gave brother Johnnie the very best slice, 
I w^anted it all, but I thought of old Santa, 

And knew he'd not come if I didn't act nice. 



n4 GLEANINGS. 



"CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR.' 

O, Christmas comes but once a year 

So the darkies all well know. 
Now daddy time your fiddle up 

And give me the old banjo. 
For all de colored folks around 

Am a-coming here to-night, 
Now won't we have a dandy time, 

AVe'U dance 'till broad daylight. 

Chorus. 

O, tick, tick, tick, C), tick, tick, tick 

What a night it's gwine to be, 
We'll give three cheers for de Christmas times, 

For de darkies jubilee, 
A\^e'll balance to de right and left, 

And our parteners we will trade. 
We'll swing dem ladies round and 'round. 

And den all promenade. 

There's gin^^er bread and ])um]^kin i)ies. 

And ap]:)les juicy and sound, 
And maybe massa will drap in 

And pass his jug around. 
W^e'd like to take a good old snort, 

Just to liven up our heels. 
And make us swing around just so 

In good old Christmas reels. 

There's Alassa Charlie back from school 

Wid a dozen college swells, 
And young Miss Annie's friends are here. 



GLEANINGS. U5 



Oh ! dem pnrty Richmond belles 
They'll all come down and dance to-ni^ht, 

They will take a reel with us 
Xow won't Ave make the cabin rini;! 

And kick up a mijL^ht}' dust. 

There's Milly Jane, ole messus' maid, 

I t'ink she is mi_2:hty sweet. 
Her hair is soft as youn^- miss 'own. 

And her waist is trim and neat, 
I'll swings her hii^h, I'll swin^- her low, 

I'll give her a little squeeze, 
And now and then I'll steal a kiss 

If she don't look displeased. 



TAKE BACK THE RING. 

^'es, I will give it back to you. 

The ring" I've held so dear. 
I'll strive to check the rising sigh 

And dry the falling tear. 
I know it's best that we should i)art. 

Though crushed this heart of mine, 
''You love jne," yes, but not enough 

To keep you from }our wine. 



'^^' 



Cborus 

Oh, take it back, oh, take it l)ack, 

The" little ring at last 
It breaks my heart to part with it, 

Sweet 'ment of the i)ast. 



U6 GLEANINGS. 



You swear to cease your follies all. 

You must not take that vow, ' 
If you can cease when you are wed. 

Why don't you do so now? 
If I've no power to keep you now 

From that vile, wicked den, 
Ah, no, my dear, if we were wed 

I could not do so then. 

Oh, no, you must not plead with me, 

I shrink from such a life ! 
I cannot willin^s^ly become 

That thinp;- — a drunkard's wife! 
^^d^en vice and crime ha\e drag'd you down, 

The time is sure to come. 
Your friends cannot then say of you — 

'Twas trouble wrought at home. 



ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. 

\\ hen the dews of eveniu"' fall 

In the balmy twilii^ht glow. 
Softly mem'ry glideth back 

To those eves of long ago. 
AVhen within the vine-clad door 

Father, mother, often sat, 
Gathered 'round their household band 

For a quiet, jileasant chat. 

Chorus 
One by one they've crossed the tide. 
Reached the golden other side, 



GLEANINGS. U? 



One by one, till all are gone, 
I'm alone — yet not alone. 

( )h, those stories father told . 

Of the happy days gone by, 
Oh, the smiles that mother gave. 

Oh, the love-light in her eye! 
Every change on each dear face. 

Every shade (m* smile it wore. 
Memory brings at eventide. 

As I live my childhood o'er. 

Alone, alone, \et not alone! 

Angel's eyes watch over me, 
Unseen hands my w^ay direct. 

Guiding me so tenderly. 
Soon beyond the surging tide. 

Free from sorrow, care and pain. 
One by one thev'll greet me there. 

Blessed hope! we'll meet again. 



WHY HAST THOU CHANGED. 

And is it thus we meet again, 

After these bitter parting years? 
No tongue could e'er describe my pain, 

My wakeful nights, my sighs and tears. 
Thou art not wdiat thou were of old, 

Thy greetings e'en were shy and strange. 
Thy very mien is stern and cold. 

Why hast thou changed? WHiy hast thou 
changed ? 



US GLEANllSrcS. 



Dost thou forget the vows we made, 

Those vows we pHghted with a kiss, 
r.eneath }on spreading- maple shade. 

When hfe was filled with hope and bliss' 
Dost thou forget our dreams of yore. 

The golden plans that we arranged? 
Dost memory not thy love restore? 

A\'hy hast thou changed? Why hast thou 
changed ? 

Perhaps another fills the place. 

J held so dear wdthin thy heart. 
Another's smiles my own efface, 

And now we must forever ])art. 
If this be true — ah, then, good-b}e, 

Ai:art from thee, (^ur lives estranged, 
\[y heart would break — I fain would die — 

Why hast thou changed? W h}- hast thou 
changed ? 

THE SAILOR BOY JACK. 

Ui all the bright ]3ictures that memory brings me. 
The brightest of all is a cot near the sea. 
My mother's dear face in the vine covered door. 
It comes to me often when far from the shore; 
I see her tears fall as she whis])ere(l good-l)\-(> 
I hear the sweet counsel she gave with a sigh. 
The tender, "God bless you and bring you safe back 
I'll pra}' for, and watch for my sailor boy Jack." 

Dear mother, my vessel is homeward-bound now ; 
The laurels of captain are fresh on my brow, 



GLEANINGS. U9 



In fancy I see your i^lad look of sur])rise, 

'J^lie pride and the jox- that will l)ean'i from your 

eyes. 
Hark! what is that ringing;? 'tis shouts from the 

crew, 
The land we have longed for, at last is in view, 
I see the lights shining far over the track ! 
Dear mother, I'm coming, your sailor boy. Jack. 

Three cheers! we ha.yQ anchored, our boats have 

touched land 
Soon! soon! [ will cling to a fond mother's hand; 
Oh! w'ho is that coming to answer \uy call? 
A stranger ! his news is the strangest of all, 
O God, it is true! and henceforth I must roam 
Uncheered by sweet thoughts of the loved one at 

home. 
She's crossed the dark river never to come back 
And waits up in Heaven, her sailor boy, Jack. 



THE BARRIER BETWEEN OR WE'LL 
HAPPY BE. 

The parting hour has come my love ; 

'Tis hard to say good-bye, 
Would that I could have stayed old Time 

The moments seemed to fly. 
Oh ! cruel is the hand of Fate 

That severs thee and me : 
But something seems to bid me hope, 

That we will happy be. 



120 GLEANINGS. 



Chorus. 

We'll happy be for God is good. 

He'll watch o'er thee and nie ; 
This barrier will roll away 

And we w\\\ happy l)e. 

The barrier between ns, love, 

Is tall and dark and steep; 
But not so dark, and not so high, 

That love cannot o'er leap. 
True love can climb the highest peak 

And stem the maddest sea, 
'Twill sweep these clouds from out our sky 

And we will happy be. 

Oh drive away that look of pain. 

The shadow from your brow ; 
The star of hope shines clear and bright, 

You may not see it now. 
This parting cannot be for aye, 

So bear it patiently, 
It may be months, it may be years ; 

But we will happy be. 



"I'S GWINE HOME TO SEE OLD MISS.' 

I's getting old and feeble and 

My eyes air getting dim, 
I 'spect the good Lord Jesus will 

Soon take me up to him ; 
I ain't a gwine to murmur, 

Nor ax the reason why; 



GLEANINGS. \2l 



But I'm bound to see ole Miss 

Before I's come to die. 
I am bound for ole Kentucky, 

De place whar I was born, 
De cabin and de sugar camp, 

De field of yellow corn. 
De place wliar mammy use to wash 

Upon a summer day, 
De mossy bank wdiar Miss and I 

Would always go to play. 

We can not ride de saplin now. 

Nor walk de poplin log, 
Nor wade the muddy pools bare-foot. 

Nor pelt de ole bull frog, 
Nor climb de ole bent sycamore. 

But 'neath its spreadin- shade 
We'll sit and talk of by-gone days 

And plays that we have played, 
Dey say she's ole and gray and bent ; 

She must look mighty queer! 
Her hair was once like gold, it was! 

Her eyes so blue and clear; 
But den I was a spry young gal, 

And now I'm stiff and slow; 
My hair was den as black as jet, 

And now 'tis white as snow. 

Ole massa sold me long ago ; 

I think he was in debt, 
And needed money mighty bad ; 

But den I will not fret 
And blame him now, that he is dead, 



122 GLEANINGS. 



And slavery is o'er, 
.\nd J can go back home again 

And see ole Aliss once more. 
My ole man, Al^e, has nmid away 

My children all are dead 
.Vnd I'm alone, ole Afisses too, 

So her dear letter said ; 
Perhaps she will he ready, and 

Will take me by de hand. 
And go to glory long wid me 

To join de spirit band. 



SHE IS SLEEPING. 
M. M. 

Gone, at the dawn of her spring-time, 

Gone, while the flowers are in bloom, 
( ione while the glad earth is reveling 

In its beanty and perfume. 
\A'here has she gone (darling Mamie?) 

Oh, why does she tarry so long? 
Aiethinks I can hear her sweet voice 

Ring out 'mid the white-robed throng. 

Chorus. 

She is sleeping, she is sleeping. 

She sleeps with the blest and the fair, 

She is waiting, she is waiting. 
To welcome us over there. 



GLEANINGS. 123 



Oh, never an unkind nuirniur, 

Xe'er was she heard to com])]ain. 
Sweet was the counsel she i;a\e us, 

iMe'er was it soui^ht for in xain. 
Ofttinies she sooth.ed us in sorrow, 

Turning" to hope every sigh, 
"Cheer up," she'd say, "do not murmur, 

'Twill all come right ]:)y and by." 

Sadly we miss you, sw^eet sister, 

Our tears Ave cannot yet restrain. 
Yet while we mourn for you darling. 

We know "our loss is your gain." 
It's all come right with you, Mamie, 

Your sorrows and sufferings are o'er, 
You are safe in the arms of Jesus. 

Safe on the beautiful shore. 



PAPA'S COMING HOME. 

Wake up baby, wake and listen. 

And do try to understand, 
W hat Tni going to tell you darling, 

Don't you see this in my hand? 
'Tis a letter from your ])a])a 

"J'is his writing clear and plain. 
And it sa}s that he is coming. 

Yes, he's coming home again. 
Good-bye to all the heart aches, 

To the weary doubts and fears, 
Good-bye to days of suffering 



J24 GLEANINGS. 



And nights of bitter tears. 
He is coming home to-morrow, 

Will to-morrow never come? 
Oh. my heart will burst with waitiiii^! 

He is coming, coming home. 

Can I e'er forget our parting? 

I was mad I really think ! 
Bitter were the words T uttered. 

And he was crazed from drink. 
So he cursed me and he left me. 

\Y'iih. that awful, awful vow. 
Never more to look u]:)oii me. 

But I'll not recall it now. 
Wake up baby, smile your sweetest. 

Let his eyes behold you thus. 
We must look our fairest, brightest. 

\Vhen our darling comes to us. 
He is coming home to-morrow. 

Will to-morrow ever come? 
Oh, my heart will burst with joy ! 

He is coming, coming home. 

How he longs for home and comfort, 

For the dear old happy life, 
For the baby that he never saw 

And his poor forsaken wife. 
He is sick and tired of roaming. 

Of companions gay and fast, 
He's disgusted with the wine cup, 

And is coming home at last. 
W^ake up baby kiss the letter, 

Papa's coming don't you hear? 



GLEANINGS. J 25 



Try to lisp it, won't you daiiini;'. 

You are welcome. Papa dear. 
He is coming home to-morrow, 

Will to-morrow never come? 
( )h, my prayer at last is answered ! 

He is comini?", cominsr home. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Hark, the x-mas l)ells are chimini;". 

Strains of music fill the air. 
Let our hearts with ])raise rise heaxenward. 

Let us banish earthly care. 
I'or the hapi)iness of others 

Let us do what ere we can. 
In the name of Him who brought us 

Peace on earth, good will to man. 

Chorus. 

Smiles and kind w'ords cost you nothini 
So let them be freely given, 

Ev'ry act of love and kindness 
Angel hands record in Heaven. 

Even ev'ry child is given 

Power to accomplish good. 
Little hands can always scatter 

Seeds of kindness if they would. 
On this glorious day, His birthday, 

Let us try in some way prove 
Half our gratitude to Jesus 

For his tenderness and love. 



126 GLEANINGS. 



GOOD OLD SUMMER TIME. 

You sing" of "g'ood old summer time" 

Of golden snnimer sun 
Of warbling 1)irds, of fruits and flow'rs. 

And rave of what you've done. 
You've hovered o'er a silver stream. 

Caught fish that looked like whales. 
Too much for you to carry home, 

And all such fishy tales. 

You'\e searched through forests thick and green 

For game that well you know 
Departed from our settlement 

Full forty years ago. 
You\'e swung in hanunocks with \our friends 

To while the hours away, 
Read poetry from noted Rards, 

Yes, that is what you say. 

But oh ! you never sing of snakes, 

Of ants and bugs and flies. 
Mosquito bites and stinging bees, 

Nor dark and stormy skies. 
Of weeds that grow like Jack's bean stalk. 

Of noon day's glare and heat, 
Of turning soil, of thinning corn, 

Of tired hands and feet. 

You never hint of cherished crops 

Laid low by wind and hail. 
Nor rooting pigs, nor stubborn mules, 

Nor kicking cows to pail. 



GLEANINGS. 127 



You never tell of spiiiioing- kin. 

Of peddlers with their ]:>ack. 
Of office seekers han^^ing 'ronnd 

To pat you on the back. 

You never sinj^' of muddy creeks 

AMiere fish is Imt a dream. 
No, no you only teH of what 

You think a ]:»oet's theme. 
But oh ! it all sounds wel[ enough. 

Yes. loveh^ and sublime. 
But we've been all along that line. 

In oood old summer time. 



TO A FRIEND. 

Nay Cuba Xay, do not urge me so, 

In that sad. pathetic w^ay ; 
Don't tug at my sleeve and whine ]^oor dog; 

For I know just what you say. 
It is, "Let's go home, oh please go home"! 

r can understand it all ; 
But we are not at a neighbor's house, 

Nor making a social call. 

Now listen Cuba and understand, 

Your pleadings are all in vain, 
The old home's not what it used to be, 

And never will be again. 
That home so cherished by you and me 

Is far o'er a boundless track, 
And you cannot take my apron strings 

In your mouth, and guide me back. 



128 GLEANINGS. 



Tliere're stranoers flittin^s: about the rooms ; 

Thon,2^h false to you it may seem. 
A stranger's dog on the old front porch. 

Where once yon have reigned supreme. 
You'll watch no more with your big brown eye 

For the ones you loved to come. 
Nor bound away with a gladsome bark 

To give them a welcome home. 

Their merry laughs at your cunning tricks. 

Your frolics with them are o'er, 
The strains of music we ^oved to hear. 

We will listen to no more ; 
For the household band is broken now 

By the cruel hand of fate. 
The sunlight's gone and the sky is dark, 

And my heart is desolate. 

I can't help cr}ing, I know it's wrong 

And it hurts you too I see ; 
For you lick my hand and in your whine. 

Is a world of sympathy. 
(You love me) yes, and arc grateful for 

(The kindness I show to you?) 
Your heart is filled with fidelity 

And never will prove untrue? 

Is a little canine's heart more strong 

Than that of the human race? 
Will another's falsehood or deceit 

Your gratitude e'er deface? 
Don't look so grieved, I will doubt no more ; 



GLEANINGS. J 29 



But will trust you to the end, 
While life doth last you will be my guard 
And my faithful little friend. 



ONLY A WOMAN. 

Only a woman heartless and cold 

As the statue on yon shelf; 
Whose only law is her own "sweet will," 

Whose only God is herself. 
Whose chief delight is another's grief. 

Who smiles at another's pain. 
Who sheds no tears lest a cherished wish 

Of her own is but in vain. 

And you (a man) whom God has endowed 

With an active brain and heart, 
Have set this creature, this soulless thing 

From the whole wide world apart, 
And lain your treasure, your wealth of love 

Down in the dust at her feet. 
She lured you on with her devilish arts, 

And laughs at her work complete. 

And now you say, like a woman weak. 

And really think it is true. 
That in this bountiful world of ours 

There is nothing left for you. 
No hope, no promise, the future's dark. 

And your heart is crushed you say? 
Look up my boy and listen to me, 

You must not talk in that wav. 



J30 GLEANINGS. 



I'll tell you something, a secret, yes, 

Perhaps 'twill help you to know 
Another was crushed as you have been, 

And perished not by the blow. 
I loved this woman as none can know 

But our blessed God above. 
I thought her innocent, pure and good, 

And thought I possessed her love. 

I loved her, yes, and she slew that love 

With a falsehood and deceit ; 
She gloated then as a fiend who wins. 

And trampled it 'neath her feet. 
I fought my battle, 'twas long and fierce. 

I conquered, thank God! at last. 
And the love I thought could never die 

Lies buried deep in the past. 

Covered with pity, and from its grave 

I arose triumphantly. 
*'Only the sorrow of others now 

Throws its shadow over me." 
So let it perish this love of yours. 

Don't nurse it through coming years. 
Moisten its petals, water its roots 

With memory's sacred tears. 

The world is wide, you are young and strong, 

Your grief has failed to erase 
The truth, the honor, the manliness 

That are written on your face. 
You might have fallen for men are weak, 

When under a sorc'ress' spell. 



gl?:anings. 131 



A wicked woman to hearts that trust, 
Is the guide that leads to hell. 

Only a woman not worth a thought. 

You will say so by and by, 
When you are reaping the fruits of trrth 

And she the fruits of her lie. 
Though your cross is great 'tis better thus. 

There is much for you in store. 
Oh ! God will help you as he has me, 

And soon it will all be o'er. 



The Pictures that never fade. Recitation. De- 
scription of an Old Kentucky School House 
and Home Containing a Camp Meeting 
Song by Aunt Hannah, and a Song 
and Dance by the Field 
Hands. 

TO R. W. B. 

It was built of logs and covered 

O'er with boards held down by pegs. 
Trees were split in twain for benches, 

xA.nd their limbs turned down for legs. 
On each side the room great windows, 

That had never heard of glass; 
Through them floated fragrant breezes 

From the woodland, field and grass. 

Hour by hour we sat there restless 
On a hard and rough hewn seat. 



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J34 GLEANINGS. 



With the floor so many inches 
'Neath our dangHng little feet, 

Studying in the loudest whispers 
That we meant for soft and low, 

From a little blue back speller 
As we each swayed to and fro. 

(Spell) some old words. 

And the master tall and stately 

With a stern look of command 
Pacing up and down the center 

Of the room, while in his hand 
Was a big old hickory ruler. 

That we wished in vain (would break), 
Glancing around the room to see if 

Ev'ry one was wide awake. 

Oh ! how slowly dragged those mornings, 

And each heart was filled with joy 
When the master called out recess. 

How each little girl and boy 
(With a yell more like a war whoop) 

Made a rush towards the door. 
Stumbling, tumbling o'er each other. 

Jostling some upon the floor. 

No great distance from the school house 
Was a gushing, bubbling spring. 

Where the flowers grew and blossomed 
And the robins met to sing. 

With its clear and sparkling waters 



GLEANINGS. J 35 



We would quench our thirst each day, 
When our dinner pails were emptied, 
Ere we started off for play. 

But too swiftly flew those moments, 

And too soon the master's call 
Rang out, "Come children come to books' 

How it shadowed one and all. 
Then a few more hours of study, 

Or pretending to, were past. 
Ere we were dismissed and started 

Off for home, "Sweet Home," at last. 

Oh ! that old home I remember 

Though it were but yester night. 
How our faces beamed with pleasure 

When each eve we came in sight 
Of that big old-fashioned farm house, 

On that green and sloping hill, 
With its rows of negro cabins. 

Ah ! I seem to see it still. 

There's my mother in the doorway 

With the baby in her arms; 
How her loving smile of welcome 

Gives the scene a thousand charms : 
At the rear among the shadows 

Of the spreading maple tree. 
Play a score of negro children 

Brimming full of fun and glee. 

There's the sugar camp. The orchard 
With its wealth of blossoms sweet. 



136 GLEANINGS. 



Here's the path across the garden 

Worn by many Httle feet. 
On this side there is a border 

Where the sage bed long has stood, 
And the peppermint we children 

Like because it smelled so good. 

On the other side Sweet Williams 

And the blue for-get-me-not. 
Hollyhocks and morning glories 

Seem to grow in every spot. 
There's Aunt Lettie in the corner 

Hunting catnip to make tea. 
**Nigger baby got de colic, ■ 

Would be dead if 'twen't for me." 

And away across the pasture, 

Where the old stream flows along. 
Where old Mammy Hannah's washing 

Clothes, there comes a plaintive song; 
How it floats upon the waters ! 

How it swells upon the breeze! 
Joined by every feathered warbler 

Hov'ring near her in the trees. 

(She sings) All de week days will be Sundays 

Up in hebben so dey say, 
De nigger can jes loaf around 

De cabin all de day. 
When de white folks have their doings 

We are show to git a share; 
Fur we'll be as free as dey is, 

And I'ze gwin to be dar. 



GLEANINGS. J37 



Chorus. 

I'll be dar— I'll be d-a-r 

When old Marcy Gabril calls me I'll be dar 
I'll be dar— I'll be d-a-r 

Don't fret about "me niggers I'll be dar. 

Ah ! dar won't be no more washin, 

Every ting is white as snow. 
And dar won't be no more melon 

Nor tater patch to hoe. 
Sweet potaters, water millians 

Am a growin every whar, 
And de grow without de tendin, 

So I'ze gwin to be dar. 

Oh ! it aint no use of talkin 

It's de best place after all. 
You'd better hustle nigger when 

You hear de trumpet call. 
I can hear de wheels a rumblin, 

Hear de char'ot in de air, 
It is cumin far old Hannah, 

So I'ze gwin to be dar. 

And from out the distant corn field 

See the lab'rers trooping home. 
How the woods and hills resoundeth 

With their singing as they come. 
Led by Uncle Sam and Rubin. 

Noble samples of their race. 
Each one bears a hoe or shovel, 

Happy heart and shining face. 
(Felden sings — and all join in the chorus.) 



J38 GLEANINGS. 



Oh ! de work is done de day is past, 

And de night is cumin on, 
We'll lay aside de hoe and shovel 

Till it bees to-morrow morn. 
So hurry up your hoe cakes Holly, 

We have got an appetite 
And bring that good old juicy bacon 

And de buttermilk in sight. 

Chorus. 
Oh ! de moon it will be shining bright ! 

I'ze as happy as can be; 
For over at Marcy Ashes dar's 
A black gal waiting for me. 
Chorus Repeats — 

Dar's Marcy Wilhoites' yaller Dan, 

He's always a actin spry 
Whenever he sees my Fillace gal 

And he thinks that I ain't nigh. 
I'll bust his head some Saturday night, 

I will show him whar to go. 
She doesn't keer for de yaller coon, 

Caze she went and told me so. 

De red bird he am pretty and cute ; 

But wid her he cant compar. 
De possum he am cunning and smart ; 

But to her he aint no whar. 
Oh, I thought that good old Marcy Gabe 

Had done jerked me up above, 
When dat gal give me a little kiss 

Jes a provin of her love. 



GLEANINGS. J39 



Years have come and years have vanished 

Changes crowd there ev'ry day, 
Old familiar scenes and faces 

One by one have passed away; 
But the brightest dearest pictures 

That in retrospection shine, 
Are that old Kentucky school house 

And that boyhood home of mine. 



HOW DEACON BARNABY CAME TO POP 

THE QUESTION 

or 

How Little Bob Played the Ghost to get His Old 

Maid Aunt Married Off. 

Yes, that is the Deacon, watch him. 

How he's struttin down the aisle, 
Shakin' hands with ev'ry body. 

See his broad and beamin' smile? 
And that lady, Heaven bless her : 

Who is blushin' by his side. 
That's Aunt Jane, the dearest creature ; 

Yes, she is the Deacon's bride. 

And that troup of little children 

That you see are foU'win them. 
Why they're the Deacon's young ones, 

Joseph, Fred and jolly Lem, 
Kittie, Nell and little Annie! 

There are six of them you see. 
As neat and trim a little set; 

i\nd they owe it all to me. 




A VISITOR FROM THE SPIRIT LAND. 



GLEANINGS. 141 



"In what way?" well! I will tell you 

How the weddin' came about; 
But folks will talk about such things, 

So it never must get out. 
Well you see, the Deacon's first wife 

Was my cousin Sallie Ann ; 
Sich a puny little creature ! 

She was always thin and wan. 

But she tried to do her duty, 

Kept her house so neat and trim. 
The Deacon liked her purty well, 

And she fairly worshi'p'd him ; 
But she died one summer ev'ning. 

That's the story often told, 
Leavin' him with six -small children, 

Baby Annie five months old. 

Tlie Deacon took it purty hard. 

Just awhile before she died, 
When she found that she was goin', 

She beckon'd him to her side, 
Sayin' "Jacob I must leave you, 

I must part from those I love; 
But I never can be happy. 

Even in that world above. 

If you go and bring another 

Here to reign within my place. 

To boss my precious little lambs, 
And my memory efface. 

You'll regret it if you do sir! 
I'll haunt vou, see if I don't. 



J42 GLEANINGS. 



No you must never wed again, 

Come now promise me you wont." 

So the Deacon made the promise 

There upon his bending knee, 
And Sallie Ann passed quietly 

To the great eternity. 
Well ! days and weeks and months went by. 

Till a year had rolled around. 
And within that big old farm house 

Ev'ry thing was up side down. 

The roof had got to leaking so. 

All the window glass was crashed. 
The plast'ring all had tumbled off. 

And the furniture was smashed. 
And the hired girl got lazy. 

And she wouldn't cook the meals, 
And the stable boy was loafin' 

And a kickin' up his heels. 

All the children were neglected. 

Little Lemmie's knees were out. 
And Freddie's elbows through the sleeves 

Of his little roundabout. 
Joseph smoked and chewed tobacco. 

And had also learned to swear. 
And Nell had got to using slang, 

And she wouldn't say her prayer. 

Kittie Clyde had lost her hymn book, 

And she cared not for the loss. 
The baby hadn't growed a bit 



GLEANINGS. i43 



And was thin, and pale, and cross. 
The Deacon's coat was frayed and torn. 

And his buttons all was off, 
And his socks all needed darnin'. 

And he had a dreadful cough. 

It was pitiful to see him 

Trying women's work to do. 
Sich as rocking of the cradle. 

While he tried to darn or sew ; 
And a mussin' 'round the kitchen, 

Turning over pot and pan ; 
On account of that one promise 

To that foolish Sallie Ann. 

The neighbors took it up and said 

That it was a burnin' shame. 
The widows set their caps for him, 

And the spinsters did the same; 
But the young girls were more cunning, 

With mammas to intercede, 
''Dear Deacon Barnaby" they said. 

'"Tis a strong young wife you need." 

You see he owms the finest house 

Here in this whole neighborhood. 
More flocks and herds and fields of grain, 

And he's pious-like and good, 
And you bet he was considered 

By the ladies one and all, 
A prize well worth their striving fur! 

They made him many a call. 



J 44 GLEANINGS. 



Pitying him and little ones, 

Talking of his lonely life ; 
But he'd always answer sadly, 

"1 can never take a wife, 
Fur I promised Sail I wouldn't," 

Then he'd gravely shake his head. 
Glancing timidly about him. 

Like he feared he'd see the dead. 

Aunt Jane and I lived all alone 

In a weather-beaten cot. 
Just a quarter from the Deacon's, 

On a little worn-out lot. 
We had some .hard old times down there 

But dear Aunty bore it well. 
And kept it from the neighbors all, 
• And she wouldn't let me tell. 

I am not a healthy boy, no ; 

But I did what e'er I could, 
Sich as drawin' of the water, 

And a sawin' of the wood. 
And a washin' of the dishes. 

And a hundred other chores, 
Sich as only boys are fit fur 

In the house and out o'doors. 

And Aunty spun and spun and toiled 
Hard to earn our daily bread. 

She has raised me from a baby. 
Fur my parents both are dead. 

From a dying sister's bosom, 
Auntv took the newborn son. 



GLEANINGS. J45 



And no mother could be better, 
Or do more than she has done. 

She loved me and she cared fur me; 

Though many a trick I've played, 
On her, provoked and teased her too. 

And I've never half repaid 
Her kindness, but I do love her! 

And some future day she'll see 
That a boy is not so thankless, 

As I've some time seemed to be. 

Well, the Deacon got to comin'. 

And he said, 'T had to pass 
Here on my way to Sabbath school, 

And, as you too have a class, 
I thought it might be well to read 

The lesson o'er to-gether, 
And little points that are not clear 

Explain to one another." 

And so, they read, explained and read, 

As he desired they should ; 
Till ev'ry little point I am sure 

Was thoroughly understood; 
After that he came each Sabbath, 

And the week days found him there, 
And Aunty got to powderin' 

And a bangin' of her hair. 

Then the neighbors got to talkin, 

And to me it all looked plain 
That Deacon Jacob Barnaby 



246 GLEANINGS. 



Was a courtin' my Aunt Jane. 
Yes, he courted and he courted, 

And he courted day and night; 
But he wouldn't pop the question, 

And I didn't think it right. 

Not a word of matrimony 

Had he ever uttered yet; 
But he was dead in love with her, 

Yes, I knowed it all, you bet ! 
Fur when she sent me off to bed 

Saying, "youth must have its sleep" 
I would listen at the shutter, 

Or I'd through the key hole peep. 

Well, years went by and still he came 

Just a cortin' in that way. 
I think she'd kinder give him out, 

Fur her hair was gettin' gray, 
And she had a tired worn out look, 

There was furrows on her brow. 
The little wheel still went its rounds ; 

But it buzz'd so slowly now. 

Gazing at her long one morning, 

As she'd spin and pause to sigh. 
What's the matter with you Aunty? 

Fm feard you're goin' to die. 
That dickens, oh ! that Deacon is the cause of this 

I will tell him he must stop 
Acomin' here and both'rin you. 

Yes I bet Pll make him pop. 



GLEANINGS. 147 



"Hush Bob" I wont ! I boldly cried, 

Then I near'd the door. It is mean 
In him, I said, for I could talk 

With about six feet between 
Myself and Aunt. Indeed it is ! 

He is just a foolin' you, 
And makes folks think he is so good, 

And so faithful and so true. 

To Sallie Ann who's dead and gone 

For these five long years; 
But oh ! the big old cowar' is afeard, 

Or he tries to let on so. 
He knows dead folks cannot come back ; 

But I sometimes wish she Avould 
And shake the liver out of him, 

Fur tryin' to be so good. 

Ir was mean in her to make him 

Promise sich a silly thing! 
With a half o'dozen young ones. 

How was he a man to bring 
Them up? They're goin to the dogs. 

And her house is gone to rack. 
If sich a thing could be, I know, 

That would bring a woman back. 

I'd like to crack his bald old pate. 

Like a hawk upon its prey, 
She swooped upon me, shaking me. 

And she boxed my ears this way. 
"Take that, and that, and hold your tongue, 

You saucy troublesome kid ! 



J 48 GLEANINGS. 



Go slop the pig ! and saw the wood ! 
You shall work all day." I did. 

Next Sunday after that 'twas dusk, 

I was lying on the bed 
Half sick, with Aunty's handkerchief 

Wet with camphor 'round my head. 
The Deacon entered suddenly, 

Fur of late he didn't knock. 
*'Oh ! Bob" he cried, "it's you, is it? 

But you gave me such a shock." 

And he really looked so startled, 

Staring 'round the room, until 
What's the matter? cried I sharply. 

I was angry with him still. 
'T never noticed it before. 

But you do my little man, 
You look just like your cousin. Bob, 

My lamented Sallie Ann. 

Then I sprang up from my pillow 

With a sudden cry of joy, 
A bright new thought had stirred my brain. 

"Mercy! My! what ails the boy?" 
Cried Aunt Jane and ran toward me 

With a look of dread alarm. 
"Nothing Aunty ; but my headache 

Is all gone, let go my arm !" 

It was midnight and the Deacon 

In his lonely chamber slept. 
Up the back stairs to the garret 

Slowly, cautiously I crept. 



GLEANINGS. J49 



Ev'ry corner was familiar 
I had been there oft of late, 

And knew where ev'ry thing was kept. 
So I did'n hesitate. 

Lighting a rusty lantern then 

I made haste to brush the dust 
From off a chest, where sacred things 

\\>re secure from moths and rust. 
I found the key, undid the lock. 

And out of its deep recess, 
I drew and donned, what once had been 

Sallie's old w^hite ev'ning dress. 

Then with a kerchief 'round my head. 

As noiseless as a cat, 
I stole softly to his chamber. 

But good heaven's ! what was that ! 
I thought an engine had rushed in. 

Its contents there out pouring; 
Or that some mill was busting up ; 

But 'twas the Deacon snoring. 

He snored and puffed, I stilled my fears. 

Close beside me on a stand 
Was a pitcher of ice water. 

And in it I dipped my hand. 
He snorted, started bolt upright, 

Trembling in every limb. 
Fur I had lightly touched his brow. 

And stood staring now at him. 

How he glared with burnin' eye balls ! 
How his breast did heave and swell ! 



J50 GLEANINGS. 



Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow. 

Yes, he tried ; but couldn't yell. 
And I stood there still and ghost-like, 

While these words fell on my ear, 
**Why have you come? I've kept my word. 

Don't you see there's no one here"? 

And he glanced toward his pillow. 

Yes, I answered with a groan ; 
But Deacon Jacob Barnaby 

It's not well to live alone ! 
You know the Bible says it taint ; 

But I was so scared that night, 
I couldn't tell the difTerence 

Twixt the way of wrong and right ; 

And so I made you promise that ; 

But I've come now to release 
You from it, Jacob, fur you see 

I couldn't rest in peace. 
While my house was bein' ruined 

And my things was bein' stole. 
And my lambs needed so much ker. 

And your poor old toes was cold. 

And you have sich a dreadful cough 

What a sad and wn-etched life 
You lead ! no Jacob Barnaby 

You must go and git a wife. 
He pulled the bed clothes round his form. 

And his night cap o'er his head. 
"Do I understand you right, dear, 

Are vou anxious I should wed?" 



GLEANINGS. 151 



I am, said I, "Ah ! well," said he ; 

"But I can't think who 'twould be. 
If you wouldn't mind the favor, 

Will you pick one out for me? 
Shall it be fair Annie Crosby, 

Or Mamie More, or Kate Carue?" 
"Neither of those silly creatures, 

They are all too young fur you." 

"Widow Jinkins?" "no indeed dear! 

She's too artful, and too sly." 
"Lucy Gray?" "that belle of fashion! 

She would make your dollars fly." 
''Widow Tomkins' ?" "no good heavens ! 

Full of wicked spite and pique ! 
With her here, my precious Iambics 

Would be slaughtered in a week." 

"Men are all such stupid creatures. 

If you was not such a dunce. 
You would look around as I do. 

And would see who suits at once. 
Janet Blair, my cousin Janet, 

Whom I've always loved so much, 
Is an honest workin woman, 

And a member of your church. 

She would be a dear kind mother 
To my lambs she would indeed ! 

Mend your clothes and darn your stockings, 
Jacob, she's the one you need." 

"Janet Blair, your cousin Janet? 

That poor old maid? why! he-m-why ! 



J52 GLEANINGS. 



Strange I've never thought of Janet!" 
(God forgive him for the lie.) 

"Well I'll think about it." "Promise 

You will see her soon," I cried 
"Tomorrow morn.'* So he promised, 

Trying hard his joy to hide. 
"Thank you Jacob, I can rest now, 

All my doubts and fears are o'er 
Good bye deary, we must sever 

Till we meet to part no more." 

Morning dawned, we had partaken 

Of our plain, but scanty meal. 
Aunty pale, sad and dejected. 

Was now busy with her wheel. 
I was left to clear the table, 

Sweep and dust and air the room ; 
But I nearly split with laughter 

As I plied the brush and broom. 

I was list'ning for his footstep, 

'Soon there came a gentle tap. 
Then a tappin' and a wrappin' ; 

'Twas a lover's sneaking rap. 
I let him tap a little while, 

Then I cried, c-o-m-e i-n ! he came 
All dressed up in his very best, 

And his face was all aflame. 

"Good mornin' Bob" good mornin' sir. 

"Well I thought I'd come a round,. 
And see how your poor head had got, 



GLEANINGS. 153 



It is better, I'll be bound." 
'Twas well before you left last night, (laughs) 

"Well, yes, I believe it was," (abstractly) 
And all the time he was listening 

To that kitchen song and buzz. 

(Aunt Jane sings) 

''Driftin' apart, driftin' apart, 

Snappin' the cords that wound round my heart, 

B-u-z-z B-u-z-z b-u-z-z (the wheel) 

Sunderin' ties that forever might be. 

Strong ties of love betwixt you and me, 

B-u-z-z B-u-z-z b-u-z-z. 

Then he sat down by the window 

Staring blankly in his hat, 
And he fumbled at his collar. 

And he pulled his stiff cravat. 
I never 'peared to notice him ; 

But kept busy with my task, 
Fur I knowed what he was after, 

And was bound to make him ask. 

Then he talked about the weather. 

And he hoped he'd save his hay, 
Then he spoke of gath'rin apples; 

Though 'twas early yet in May : 
Then talked of putting up his ice. 

And of all that sort of thing. 
Till I giggled out and asked him, 

''Do you put up ice in spring?" 



J54 GLEANINGS. 



"Why! no, I mean next winter, sir! 

But Bob, my man, hem — hem — he-m, 
Where are your folks all gone to day?" 

I replied I'm part of 'em. 
"Your Aunt, Miss Jane? I thought I'd come, 

As you know has been my rule. 
And read the lesson o'er with her 

Ere it's time for Sunday school." 

Sunday school? 'tis ^Monday mornin.' 

"W-y-w-y-y-y-e-s, I know it sir! 
I mean next Sunday and have brought 

Some religious tracts fur her 
To give out to her Sabbath class." 

Oh ! the love bewildered fool 
Had brought some bills of Handcock's sale 

To give out at Sunday school. 

But I couldn't stand it longer 

So I said 'T'U fetch her in." 
Aunty didn't hear me comin, 

Fur the Avheel kept sich a din. 
Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane! the Deacon's come! 

And he's lookin' just tip top 
Dressed in his go-to-meetin' clothes ! • 

ril bet he's goin to pop." 

"Hush Bob" the wheel stopped suddenl\ . 

And her face was all aglow. 
"Bring me the glass, do hurry Bob ! 

Oh! what makes me tremble so? 
Yes, you may bring my Sunday shoes, 

Fur these slippers are in holes. 



GLEANINGS. 155 



Now bring my dress, the white I mean, 
And you mind don't muss the folds. 

"Go fetch the comb, some hair pins too. 

Is my hair much gray? say child.'' 
I knowed it was, but said why, no ! 

And was paid, she sweetly smiled. 
"You are just the purt'est Aunty 

That a fellow ever had." 
"Why Bob you little flatterer." 

And she tried to look so mad. 

"Not too much powder on my face? 

Now see if my dress hangs straight 
A man is sich a bother, Bob ; 

But I hate to make him wait. 
My ribbon, bring that brand new piece. 

Pshaw ! I cannot even tie 
A decent bow. There go and say 

I am comin' bye and bye." 

I went and foimd him standin' there, 

In the middle of the floor. 
His fingers twitching nervously. 

And his eye upon the door. 
"She's comin Deacon," (titters) "that's all right" 

Then he dropped into a chair, 
And tried to whistle, then to sing 

Just as if he didn't care. 

(He sings) 
When other lips and other hearts 

Their tales of love shall tell ; 
In language whose excess imparts 



J56 GLEANINGS. 



The pow'r they feel so well ; 
There may perhaps, in such a scene 

Some recollection b-e-e-e-e, 
Of days that have as happy been, 

And you'll remember m-e-e-e-e. 

''And you will remember — say Bob, 

Here's a penny, run away 
And watch my filly, wont you Bob? 

She is skittish-like to-day." 
Then I took the proffered dollar ; 

Fur it w^as one' I'll declare ! 
And I rushed into the frunt yard, 

Where was tied the stiff old mare. 

Old Bet had seen full twenty years. 

And was clumsy, stiff and slow. 
A shy" young filly! ha! ha! ha! 

It was fun ! don't you think so ? 
Old Bet a skittish filly Oh! 

Then I tumbled in the dust. 
And I screamed and laughed and shouted, 

Till I really thought I'd bust. 

Sunday school on Monday mornins ! 

Handcock's bills fur Sabbath class! 
And Aunty banging of her hair ! 

Like a sixteen year old lass ! 
And the deacon singing love songs, 

Like a lovesick boy, whoo-e-e-e ! 
Givin' dollars out "for pennies ! 

And that's just what tickled me. 



GLEANINGS. 157 



Yes I yelled and laughed and shouted " 

Till the robins all took flight 
And the tenants of the barnyard 

Screamed aloud in wild afright. 
Bye and bye he came out softly 

Tripping, and beside me passed, 
Never noticin' my presence; 

Then I knowed he'd popped at last. 

He mounted Bet and rode away 

Singing, down the shady lane, 
And I nearly split with laughter 

As I heard that comic strain 
(He sings) When I go a courtin, 

I go through mud and rain, 
I leave my filly snortin' 

At the corner of the lane. 

Bye bye my darlin' — 

Then I went into the kitchen, 

Where the wheel went round and round, 
Mingled with a merry voice. 

What a cheerful pleasant sound ! 
(She sings) 

Somebody's comin when the dew drops fall 
(The wheel) 

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz 
And I'll save a little kiss for him. 

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz. 

Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane, I paused to sigh. 

And the wheel and song was hushed. 
"What is it Bob?" I tried to look 



158 GLEANINGS. 



As if ev'ry hope was crushed ; 
Fur I knowed just how to work her; 

So put on that hopeless mask. 
She was in the mood to yield to 
Any thing that I might ask. 

I'd like to go, but t'aint no use, 

That old churnin' it aint done ! 
And Frank and Tom and Bill and Jack 

Are a havin' all the fun : 
They have been out all the mornin', 

And are kechin' lots of fish; 
While I must stay and work, I wish ; 

But it aint no use to wish. 

(He turns away and she calls him back) 
''Why you can go, of course 3^ou can ! 

You can put the churn away! 
And you have wood enough I know. 

You can go and stay all day. 
Here take this lunch and brighten up, 

And you mind don't go too near 
The water's edge and tumble in. 

Kiss me now, good bye my dear." 

With a pocket full of cookies 

And a half of custard pie, 
I started off, Hurrah ! Hurray ! (he tosses up his hat) 

I am in it now, oh ! my. 
A fortnight later they were wed 

Here in this old church, and oh ! 
They were just the happ'est couple! 

It was just two months ago. 



GLEANINGS. J59 



That old farm house upon the hill 

Has been painted, cleansed and aired, 
And ev'rything within and out 

Is now thoroughly repaired. 
You can see the Deacon's happy 

By that look upon his face. 
His children are kept neat and clean, 

And the servants in their place. 

I have a brand new suit you see? 

And a pony of my own : 
I have the gayest, jolly time ! 

Sich as I have never known. 
Our little cottage now is closed, 

And the little wheel is still ; 
But Aunty's happy song is heard 

In her new home on the hill. 

Last night I heard the Deacon say, 

"It was very, very kind 
Of Sallie Ann to let me know 

She had gone and changed her mind, 
And released me from that promise : 

Don't you think so dear?" 'Vhy yes!" 
Said Aunty "and that precious ghost, 

I shall ever, ever bless." 




t^Hfc- 



.•^llf^yKNH 



BETH WISDOM 



GLEANINGS. 161 



BETH, THE LITTLE BLACKBERRY 
GLEANER. 

'Twas a cool and shady pasture 

That I wandered in one day, 
And sat down among the shadows 

Of the trees, to while away 
One of summer's drowsy evenings ; 

While the insects twittered by 
Over head the birds were singing 

All forgetting I was nigh. 

As I sat there idly dreaming. 

Banishing all thoughts of care, 
Suddenly there floated to me 

Such a joyous merry air, 
Whistled by some unseen person, 

'Twas so full of life and joy, 
That I smiled and murmured softly 

'Tis some gay, light hearted boy. 

Nearer, nearer came the whistler; 

Till at last to my surprise. 
Saw I coming through the pasture 

Not a boy, as I surmised ; 
Nay, it was no careless boy 

That sent forth that merry sound. 
It was Beth the gayest Httle 

Girl in all the country around. 

She was seeking for blackberries, 

And a cry of keen delight 
Rose upon tlie summer evening. 

When by chance she came in sight 



162 GLEANINGS. 

Of the bushes heav'est laden 

With the fruit she sought, and oh ! 

How her bright eyes danced with pleasure 
As she flitted to and fro. 

In and out among the bushes 

Looking for the ripest fruit ; 
Tripping over stones and briers 

Stumbling over jagged root, 
Sometimes falling into gutters, 

Brighter grew the tune and smile. 
Never pause she in her efforts 

Till her baskets both were piled. 

I couM see her, plainly see her 

From the shadows where I sat, 
With her mass of jet black ringlets 

Falling neath a battered hat. 
And her cheeks as red as any 

Fragrant rose of balmy June, 
With her red lips stained with berries. 

Puckered for another tune. 

01'\ ! if I were but an artist 

What a picture I could draw 
Of that merry little gleaner. 

Whom that summer eve I saw 
Gath'ring, gath'ring, gath'ring berries 

Neath the burning summer sun, 
And a shadow fell upon me 

When I saw her task was done. 

Thus I mused while wand'ring homeward 
Life is full of just such briers 



GLEANINGS. 163 



Dark impediments surround our 
Brightest hopes and iond desires, 

And we stand too weak to brave them, 
Longing, dreading till too late, 

"Fime and chance go hurrying past us, 
Then we murmur at our fate. 

l!ut this merry little gleaner. 

With her brave determined will, 
She can tread life's roughest pathway 

wShe can climb its steepest hill, 
Step by step and never falter, 

Knowing when the worst has past, 
lliat a golden harvest waits her. 

That it's victorv at last. 



AUG 10 4*U8 



/ 



CONGRESS 




